


High Voltage

by AccursedSpatula



Category: Captain America (2011), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula/pseuds/AccursedSpatula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>As of 5/24, chapters 1-6 have been rewritten!</b>
</p><p>Callused fingertips brushed the back of his hand and he looked up at Thor. He hadn’t even heard or felt him slide over so that they were next to each other. “I do not want to be a secret, not something dark and wrong to be afraid of,” Thor said slowly. “I have never wanted to do something I am ashamed of. But if this were merely something private, just between us, just for us...that I could live with.”</p><p>At last, Steve swallowed thickly, his hand turning over to fit against Thor’s, entwining their fingers together. Hand in hand, into the crucible.</p><p>“I…I’d like to try.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **As of 5/24, the first six chapters to this have been rewritten. My characterization of Thor was off; it was something I feared but let slide, and when it was brought to my attention I decided to re-write it. If you already read the chapters, nothing major has changed in terms of the plot, so there's no need to reread--the only thing of note is that Thor is no longer a hermit.**
> 
> My contribution to the Avengers Big Bang. 
> 
> Some notes/thank yous:
> 
> 1\. Firstoff, all the love in the world to my beta Moiraine, who held my hand through each and every step of this and stopped me when I wanted to quit. And my artist chezvous, who is wonderfully talented, and I'm extremely flattered by the gorgeous works she's done for me. She's made some lovely graphics and a great mix that can be found [here.](http://birdsdown.livejournal.com/5039.html)
> 
> 2\. A few quick notes on the actual fic--Yes, I know Phil died. However, I started writing this before I saw the film, and I like Phil's character. His role is small enough that it's negligible, and I didn't want to write him out of the story. And Dr. Strange and the Defenders have had "liberties" taken with them, as they aren't introduced in the MCU yet, but I really wanted to write off MCU canon. Doom's collars are loosely based on something I ran across in the comics, where he uses one to subdue Namor.
> 
> 3\. This story is far from finished! What I've posted tonight is approximately the first *third* of everything to come. Sorry it's so slow, guys!

 

Steve knew he was dead.

All he felt was pain, pain in his skull so sharp Steve was certain there was something lodged in it, pain so sharp in his torso that he wondered how many ribs were broken, pain screaming in his limbs so loud he wondered if he’d be able to move them. He slowly, agonizingly, lifted a hand to his head, gingerly brushing the back of his scalp, finding nothing but soft hair there.

Perhaps Steve wasn’t as dead as he thought.

There were lights dancing behind his eyes, bright, abstract flashes of reds and blues and greens coming together in a kaleidoscope against a black backdrop, and Steve finally found the energy to open them just a crack. He expected a barrage of light, but instead he was greeted by a dim, fluorescent, purplish light, barely illuminating a gray, nondescript room.

He wasn’t on the floor—that was quickly discerned, and another few seconds of survey told him he was on something padded, a bed, perhaps, or maybe a bench. Lying on his side, he assumed whatever he was resting on was pushed against the wall, and he was facing the center of the room. That being said, there wasn’t much else to say about the room. Gray walls, cement, from the looks of them, a thick door that had to be steel or something stronger, and a ceiling that matched the floor and walls.

With agonizing results, Steve pushed himself up on one elbow, managing the position for a few seconds to see that he was, indeed, lying on a bed next to the wall. He flopped back down, wincing at the pain lancing through his ribs and arms, shutting his eyes and curling slightly in on himself.

“Are you awake, Captain Rogers?”

Steve recognized the voice, and sighed. Thor.

Tony’s company he would have enjoyed; despite Stark being an ass at times, he was Steve’s closest friend. Clint was entertaining—he had stories to tell and was always personable. Natasha was quiet, but competent. And Bruce often proved to be a level-headed strategist, and was usually the last person to lose his cool (for obvious reasons). But Thor? Thor was the last person on the team Steve wanted to be stranded alone with. Sure, he still butted heads with Tony some times, and Clint could be a real pain in the ass when he put his mind to it, but while Steve respected Thor, he didn’t know him beyond that.

After the Manhattan incident, he hadn’t expected to see Thor--or Loki--ever again, and if he were to be honest, he had been relieved to see them go. With them gone, things had settled into a much more normal routine, one Steve could handle. He had seventy years to catch up on already, and throwing monsters and aliens and magic into the mix had only further alienated him from the present. Tony had rebuilt Stark Tower, engineered a floor for each of them, for Steve and Bruce and Natasha and Clint, even one for Thor, in the unlikely possibility he ever came back, a possibility that Steve crossed his fingers and prayed that never would happen.

He had just begun to acclimate to this life, a year after Manhattan had occurred, had just come to terms with Peggy’s death and Bucky’s death, with the massive leaps in technology and culture and everything, when S.H.I.E.L.D. found Thor in the desert once more.

Asgard had repaired the Bifrost (whatever that was; Steve had stopped trying to understand Thor and his culture rather quickly), he told them. Loki had escaped his “bondage”--Steve would never forget how Tony had laughed when Thor had said that--and Thor had come to earth, fearing that his brother would set his sights on it once more.

And Loki had.

His efforts weren’t as dramatic or as large as the first time, but he had drummed up support, both here and abroad, and become a major threat. It was deemed that Thor’s presence was a necessary one, since S.H.I.E.L.D. needed all the help they could get, and so Thor had moved in to the tower with the rest of them.

Steve wondered for half a second if he could feign sleep for a little while longer, at least until he was a little more with it. The last thing he could remember were…explosions, and then asphalt and the taste of blood in his mouth. He couldn’t even recall who they’d been fighting; there were just flashes, and then nothing, and now this, this captivity he found himself in.

Thor, to his credit, didn’t pester Steve, allowing him to lie in the semi-darkness until Steve had fully resigned himself to the reality that he was not dead, that he instead was the prisoner of some unknown villain in some tiny, cement cell with an Aesir for company.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat, coughing slightly, followed by a, “Thor?”

“I’m here.” Thor sounded in surprisingly good spirits, considering their situation, something that Steve attributed to his seemingly never-ending optimism.

Steve opened his eyes again, looking for Thor, and a glance down his body found Thor sitting on the floor beside the foot of the bed, back against the bed frame, knees tucked into his chest and arms wrapped around them in a decidedly childlike posture, which looked extremely awkward for a man of his size. Steve couldn’t see much of him, viewing him in profile, but from what he could, Thor was an utter wreck.

There was blood covering almost all of the exposed skin on his face that Steve could see, and his nose had clearly been broken, a large cut running across the bridge of it. There was blood and dirt matting his hair and his beard, a jagged cut snaking through his lip, and what flesh wasn’t covered by grime was mottled with purple bruises. His cape was gone, torn away, leaving behind fraying remnants clinging sadly to his shoulders in a mockery of its former splendor.

But what was most disturbing was the thick metal collar fastened around his neck, the two halves secured with what appeared to be a simple modern-day padlock. The collar had symbols etched into it, ones that were distinctly Norse (runes, Steve remembered, they were called runes), and Steve had a distinct feeling that this collar was the reason there wasn’t a Thor-shaped hole in the door—because whatever his complaints about him, Thor wasn’t one to leave his friends helpless and hurt if he do something about it.

He turned to look at Steve, attempting to crack a smile, and Steve saw that the damage on the left side of his face was just as bad as the right. He winced, and then reasoned that he probably looked the same. Laying back on the bed, Steve shut his eyes once more, hearing the shuffling sounds of Thor sliding along the floor a few feet, closer to the head of the bed.

“Thor,” he began, turning onto his back, “do you have any idea where we are?”

More shuffling followed as Thor presumably got comfortable. “I believe we are in the facilities of Doctor Doom.”

Steve swallowed thickly. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Thor sighed. “Not much. I remember engaging Doom with you and Stark and the others, but hardly anything beyond that. Some…explosions and loud noises.”

“So you think it’s Doom, then?”

“I see no reason why it would not be.”

Steve rolled back onto his side, opening his eyes and looking at Thor. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, tracing aimless patterns on the cement with one hand. Steve could see that there was more blood, along with a few burns and additional bruises, scattered on his arms.

With a groan, Steve started to sit up, and Thor’s head snapped up at his companion’s movement. “You’re badly hurt,” he cautioned. “Don’t try to move.”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve quipped, finally managing to sit up in bed, ignoring Thor’s protest and his concerned expression. The position was only a tactical improvement, tendrils of pain already curling along his ribs and up his spine. “How long do you suppose we’ve been here?”

“Not long, I would think,” Thor said, going back to drawing his symbols. He was rather calm about their whole situation, as if he had already resigned himself to whatever fate they would be subjected to. Steve wondered why he wasn’t hopelessly flinging himself at the walls, trying to get through them by some miracle of osmosis, but he assumed that perhaps Thor had already tried that tactic, and, when the walls and door had not yielded, he had sat down, out of ideas.

“You tried the door?” Steve asked, glancing over at it.

“Many times,” Thor answered, without looking up.

Steve nodded contemplatively. If Thor couldn’t get it open, well, Steve would certainly fare no better, at least in terms of sheer strength. Intelligence was another matter entirely.

With aid from his hands, Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed, noting his torn and tattered uniform, soot and ash and pulverized concrete staining it. He wanted to stand, just to prove to himself that he would be okay, and so, with his boots planted firmly on the floor, he pushed himself off the bed.

Several spots of pain flared up, one in his thigh, two in his left shin, and one in each of his knees, and Steve steadied himself with his hands outstretched for a moment. Thor watched him carefully, tensed, ready to rise and catch him should Steve fall, but he clenched his jaw, concentrating on staying on his feet.

Tottering steps got him to the door, gloved hands feeling it up and down for any kind of latch, simultaneously supporting himself on it. He sighed in frustration as he skimmed over the whole door, finding nothing but a smooth metal plate. Any handle, any latch, any hand holds had to be on the other side, removed from their control. Doom wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t trap them here, together, if he wasn’t sure there was no way for them to get out.

Steve snorted, shutting his eyes for a long moment before turning around and leaning against the door, dropping his arms to his sides. Thor seemed to take no notice, fingers still dancing on the floor.

“You wanna stop drawing and see if there’s any way out of here?” Steve snapped as a flicker of pain arced across his chest.

Thor didn’t respond to Steve’s tone. “There is no way out,” he said simply, punctuating the calm statement with an indignant snort. “I looked while you were still unconscious.” After a pause, he added, “Do not take me for a fool, Steve Rogers.”

Steve set his mouth into a line, sliding to the floor while keeping his back braced against the door, dropping his legs and sitting in a sprawled mess. “Sorry,” he murmured. Thor sighed, his great shoulders heaving, and then traced another angular pattern on the floor.

The silence blanketed the two of them. Steve knew they were both afraid—trapped, helpless, in an adversary’s domain, their weapons taken from them, beaten and battered and left in a cell. It was the lack of information that bothered Steve the most, and he was certain it weighed heavily on Thor as well. Not knowing who their captor was for sure, or anything about their situation, really, left them trapped in a liminal state, unsure if they should cling to what lingering hope they had left or simply burn it entirely.

“So now what do we do?” Steve’s voice was raspy and weak, so feeble it sounded alien to himself.

Thor tilted his head and shrugged again. “I suppose we wait,” he said, staring up at Steve. The cuts and bruises on his face looked even more severe as the artificial light hit his skin, highlighting the contrast between his skin and the blood painted on it. “What else is there to do?”

Steve inhaled deeply, feeling his ribs expand and the subsequent spots that danced across his vision from the pain in his chest. He lifted his hands in front of him, carefully peeling off his gloves, grateful that his fingers weren’t broken. The red canvas was torn in several spots, but the gloves as a whole remained intact, albeit stained and scuffed. Steve plucked the gloves from his hands finger by finger, twisting them when he was done, needing to keep his hands busy somehow.

“You should rest,” Thor said, turning his head slightly to look at Steve. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.” He glanced about the room, frowning. “Though I highly doubt anything will.”

Steve nodded, surveying the room once more. There was only one bed, pushed against the left wall, and behind it, situated in the corner, he could see a crude metal toilet. At least it’s not a bucket, he thought cynically.

It hardly seemed fair to take the sole piece of furniture and leave Thor stranded on the concrete, but Steve’s head was still aching, his vision swimming from exhaustion and what might be the start of a concussion, and at this point, chivalry be damned. He struggled to his feet, limping back over to the bed before collapsing on it, leaving his gloves in a neat pile near the door.

He curled up on his side, the least offensive position to his injuries, and shut his eyes, trying to get as comfortable as he could. The only sounds in the room, aside from his shuffling on the mattress, was Thor’s uneven wheezing, his breaths turning into little whistles as he struggled to inhale through his broken nose.

Shutting his eyes, Steve let unconsciousness wash over him once more.

—

It didn’t take long for Steve to fall back asleep, and Thor kept an eye on him until he dropped off. After he fell asleep, he resorted to occasional glances. With his healing, Steve should be feeling better relatively soon, but Thor just wanted to make sure nothing happened while he slept.

He himself had slept on and off. Upon his first waking, he had checked to see that Steve was alive, and then searched every nook and cranny of the room, looking for a way out, a weapon, a tool—anything that might lend some aid in escaping their predicament. But the room yielded nothing aside from four gray walls, a toilet, a bed—complete with one wounded comrade on it—and Thor had sat down, disappointed.

Despite his aches and pains, which were numerous and demanding, Thor found sleeping difficult. The ground was uncomfortable, and he was unwilling to ask Steve for the bed. He didn’t want to look weak in Steve’s eyes, not now, not ever. Steve respected him, for his strength and endurance, and he had always struggled with looking weak in the eyes of another. He knew Steve wouldn’t judge him in such a moment of weakness, but Thor couldn’t bring himself to ask regardless.

Thor sighed, wishing that he alone had been captured. Perhaps it would have made his situation more precarious, but he suspected he would have felt more at ease. The others respected him, and were often friendly, but he lacked the close bonds he’d had with his comrades in Asgard. 

He had assumed that the team would eventually choose him as their leader. After all, he was the oldest, the most experienced, and certainly the most powerful—it was a natural choice. But the team had gravitated toward Rogers, had silently elected to follow him, and Thor was forced to either fall in line or leave the team. But with his brother making threats to this realm, Thor knew he couldn’t leave, and so he had accepted Rogers’ leadership. After all, the Captain was very capable--Thor had seen that firsthand.

Although he would never admit it, he sought Rogers’ favor. Steve had proven himself a capable warrior and leader, honorable above all others, and Thor would have his approval. So, while maintaining the strength and confidence he always had, that was as much a part of him as his hair and eyes, he now always followed Rogers’s orders without complaint or protest, hoping that Steve would continue to respect him.

Steve snored softly on the bed and Thor sighed, looking up at him. He wished he could swap Rogers for one of his other teammates, Clint perhaps, or Natasha. Tony had bonded with Steve and had little interest in getting to know Thor, and Bruce had always shied away from Thor’s aggressive, outgoing personality (although he had taken Thor aside and thanked him for all the times he had helped wrangle him when he lost control). But Clint was always more lighthearted, more forgiving of Thor’s foibles, and was Thor’s closest friend here. And Natasha didn’t mind his company, although they rarely spent time together anymore.

At one point, Thor had considered Natasha to be one of the Avengers he was closest to. They fought well beside each other in battle, and she didn’t seem to regard him with the same disdain that Steve and Tony did. Their relationship had—quite naturally, he thought—become intimate. The occurrences were sporadic and mutually enjoyable. But as soon as Thor began pushing for other contact, similar to what he’d shared with Jane, Natasha ended it, limiting their contact to what she had with everyone else. By that point, Thor had recognized that Natasha didn’t seem to want to foster the same kind of connections he’d witnessed among others elsewhere, both here and in Asgard, and he couldn’t begrudge her whatever distance she needed to keep her edge.

Thor supposed it had been for the best. 

Steve stirred on the bed, and Thor glanced over at him. He worried for the captain, even though that worry would have been better spent on himself, considering his condition, but Thor always worried for his human teammates. They were much more...fragile than his companions back home, and their mortality was a concept that was both fascinating and frightening. 

With a sigh, Rogers settled back into sleep, and Thor leaned his head back against the wall, resigned to wait and watch.

—-

When Steve drifted back to reality, his eyes fluttering for a long second before he found the coherency to open them, he was surprised to see that Thor had moved, now sitting on the wall opposite from Steve. He was leaning back against the wall, one foot tucked under his opposite leg, focused on a small pile of red scraps in front of him (the remnants of his cape, Steve realized), neatly stacking them, the task apparently consuming all of his attentions.

The blood on his face was dry and crusty now, but the wounds were still largely open, and one on Thor’s neck had a tendency to keep cracking and bleeding when he shifted his head. He wasn’t healing, Steve realized with a surge of alarm, and he could see more bruising on him than there had been before, dark purple blossoms that had sprung up over the past few hours. The sight caused his stomach to twist for a second, partly out of pity for Thor, but more so because he’d been counting on a healthy Thor to help them get out of this.

Steve sighed, eyes scanning the room for any apparent signs of change. The howling in his ribs had died down, along with the other aches, reduced to a hum of discomfort about his body—his healing factor at work and doing its job. But a new, gnawing sensation had settled in his stomach—Steve was hungry. No, he was beyond hungry, having plunged headlong into starving. His metabolism was four times faster than an average human; because of the high caloric intake he now required, Steve was used to frequent meals. He had taken to keeping protein bars in his belt or pockets, and midnight raiding of the fridge was not uncommon, and that was simply to maintain his form. Battle, and the accelerated healing after, always came at the cost of needing almost more food than he could eat.

Despite the protest from his stomach, he was able to push himself up without much protest from his limbs now, and Steve took full advantage of that fact, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed.

Thor looked up from his little pile, and Steve was forced to wonder why he had made it, coming to the conclusion that Thor would rather have no cape at all than the sad reminder of what it had once been. He understood that feeling. They were both trapped down here, separated from their friends, with even their belongings gone—sometimes it was easier to forget one had something entirely than to remember its former splendor.

They exchanged a long look, one of resigned hopelessness from both parties. Steve knew that Tony and the rest would be looking for him, that it was only a matter of time until they were found, but there was a great deal of surviving that they had to do in that time.

Steve could have asked Thor if anything had changed, but he knew that nothing had. Thor would have woken him if something were to happen.

Instead, Steve settled for, “How long do you think we’ll be here?” He knew that neither of them had the faintest idea—it could be days, weeks or months, and there was really no way to determine that from inside this cell. All of the factors were out of their control, and the question was more a way to break the silence.

Thor frowned as he pushed the scraps of his cape around with his finger. “I do not know,” he said, gravely, before looking up at Steve with what looked very much like defeat in his eyes. “But I would assume that Stark and the others will find us as soon as they can.”

There was another brief lull in the conversation, Thor stacking up his scraps once more. “Do your wounds pain you less?” he asked, eyes flitting up to Steve’s face.

“Yeah, I’m pretty good. Be back up to speed in no time,” Steve answered, rolling his shoulders back. Given another day, he was confident he would be back to normal. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Thor said, gently plucking at a larger swatch. Thick fingers deftly started pulling the threads apart, moving with rather surprising dexterity. Steve frowned at the blatant lie; it was apparent that Thor wasn’t healing, they could both see that. He eyed the collar around Thor’s neck. Perhaps that was the reason for the lie, then. They both knew what was suppressing Thor’s powers, and Thor was simply trying to maintain what pride he had left.

“Do you want the bed for a while?” Steve asked, patting the mattress to his side.

Thor shook his head, some matted blond locks falling into his face. “You may have it,” he insisted.

“Come on, Thor, I’ve had it for the last however many hours. Get some rest. It can’t be comfy on that floor.”

Thor looked around the room before agreeing with a short nod. Steve stood, much less wobbly than his previous effort, and watched as Thor slowly got up. His legs must have been aching from sitting there so long, on the hard floor, but he managed with only a grimace. 

He dropped his weight on the bed, and Steve could see the exhaustion in his face, the circles under his eyes and the glassy look in them. He curled up on his side much like Steve had, almost too big for the small cot.

Steve sat down on the floor where Thor had been, idly pushing aside the little pile of red scraps. He let his thoughts wander as Thor drifted off, his raspy breathing deepening and evening out. Steve’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes half closed, his mind turning to Tony and the others. Given how long he’d slept, and how much he had healed, Steve figured they’d been captive for around a day, which he knew wasn’t a whole lot of time for the others. It felt like eternity, trapped in here with nothing to do, but Steve was well aware of how hours could be lost in the chaotic turmoil to find a teammate.

Thor slept with his brow furrowed and his hands nearly clenched into fists, his whole body seemingly tensed and ready for action upon waking. Steve couldn’t help but be a bit reminded of Bucky, of how he had always seemed guarded and alert in the field during the war, when they could be called to fight at any second.

With no way to tell the actual passing of time, Steve was at a loss to keep his estimations up. For a while he tried counting seconds, getting to something like twelve hundred before he realized it was a fruitless effort. Eventually he just dozed, shutting his eyes for long periods of time, occasionally reopening them to check on Thor and his surroundings.

In the midst of one of Steve’s dozing periods the tumblers of the door started turning, grating together with metallic clicks and clangs, and Steve snapped his eyes open to see just what was going on. He struggled with the brighter light from the hallway streaming in, squinting his eyes as it backlit two men, both dressed in black, one carrying a metal bucket and the other holding a very large, dangerous-looking assault rifle trained on Steve.

He held up his hand to block the light as the man with the bucket took a step forward and set it down just outside the turning radius of the door, giving Steve a hard, angry look as he did so. Steve instinctively tensed, moving into a crouch, eyes darting between the two men as they pulled the door shut, the tumblers locking it once more.

Thor jerked awake at the sound of the door closing, head whipping around the room in an effort to secure his surroundings.

“It’s okay,” Steve said, holding a hand up to assuage the concern on Thor’s face. He moved over to the bucket, peering over the top and staring at what appeared to just be water on the inside. “They just left some water for us.”

He dipped a finger into it, enough to sufficiently wet it, and then stuck it in his mouth, deliberately touching his lower gum.

“Don’t—” Thor began, and Steve knew what was coming next.

“It’s not poisoned,” he said. “If Doom—or whoever—were going to kill us, there’s no sense in dragging us back here to poison us.”

Thor frowned for a moment longer, but didn’t protest any further. Instead, he watched as Steve dipped his hand in for a moment and then drew up a full mouthful of water. It did nothing to kill the hunger pangs, which had increased in severity at an alarming rate, Steve’s head now buzzing insistently with a headache, and feeling slightly faint, he grimly wondered how long he had until he simply passed out.

“If our captor’s intent is not to kill us, what do you suppose it is?”

Steve shrugged, swishing his mouthful around before swallowing it. His gums ached from dehydration, and it felt good to finally be able to remedy that discomfort. “No idea. They might want information from us, or they’re using us as hostages.”

Thor leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. Their resident god didn’t typically find himself being held captive—he was usually too hard to take down and contain—and this whole experience was novel for him. It also had to be a bit frightening. To sit and be patient, to be stripped of his powers and reduced to a form far weaker than his norm, to be forced to wait, helpless, had to be hard on him. Steve remembered what he had been like before the serum, all scrawny limbs and sharp joints, unable to even compete with his peers in normal things, let alone hardship and deprivation. Being reduced that that again would have been a hard burden to bear; Thor had to be feeling even worse, especially watching Steve heal up before his very eyes.

“Can I take a look at that collar?” Steve asked, and Thor stiffened, his hands clenching briefly into fists.

“If you so desire,” he answered stiffly, and Steve stood, carefully stepping around the bucket to sit on the bed beside Thor.

He tentatively reached forward, unsure of what to do with Thor’s long hair, and hesitantly pushed it to the other side of Thor’s neck, twisting it to try and keep it in place. Despite the lack of good lighting, he could see the symbols clearly, tracing one or two with his fingers, being tentative until he was sure that they wouldn’t hurt him as well. Despite the collar’s crude construction (simply two metal halves joined on one side with a hinge and on the other by a shiny, new padlock), it seemed to be working rather effectively; none of Thor’s wounds had closed or even begun to look better.

“There are symbols on it,” Steve mused.

“Runes,” Thor corrected sadly.

Steve raised his brows, fingers falling away from the cold metal. “You know what this is?”

Thor tiredly rubbed his face, trying to avoid the cuts there. “I…If this device is what I believe it to be, I have seen similar things, yes.”

“Where?” Steve asked, hand now grasping the padlock, testing its strength.

“Long ago, in Asgard,” Thor supplied. “Such things were used to suppress one’s abilities. They came in different forms, and the ones I saw were on shackles, not on a…collar.” He said the word with utter disdain, and Steve couldn’t help but sympathize.

“So it is the reason you’re not healing,” Steve murmured, releasing the lock and sitting back.

Thor looked away from him, eyes locked on the floor. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Steve said gently. Thor gave him a look that was both indignant and afraid. “I…” He didn’t finish his thought.

Steve wanted to pat his shoulder, or do something reassuring, but in Thor’s battered state he didn’t think it would be wise. Any touch would be painful. “We just have to be careful, Thor, until we can get it off of you.”

Thor hesitated for a long second before finally giving a small nod. It was hard for him to accept, Steve realized. Thor was used to being the strongest, most durable team member (when Bruce wasn’t showing off), and now he was as breakable as any of them.

“You thirsty?” Steve asked, getting up to bring the bucket over next to the bed. He figured any distraction, however slight, would help Thor.

Another nod followed, and Thor bent down to haul the bucket up, awkwardly drinking several long swallows from it before holding it out to Steve. He took it, gratefully, and did the same, lifting the bucket to his lips and gulping down a few more much-needed mouthfuls. When he finished he looked back over at Thor, in his sorry state, and then set the bucket down, rising from the bed and striding to where he had pushed Thor’s little scraps.

He picked them up, dusting off any powder or debris, and then returned to the bed, taking the largest one in hand. It was the size of his hand, and reminded Steve of a leaf—bright red and jaggedly shaped. Carefully taking it in hand, he wound part of it over his coiled index finger and then dipped it into their water, Thor watching him curiously.

“Will you let me clean up your face a bit?” he asked. It would give Steve a chance to see how bad the damage really was and hopefully make Thor feel a bit more secure.

Thor eyed the red scrap in Steve’s hand warily before he agreed, twisting on the bed to face Steve. With Thor’s jaw held gingerly in his free hand, Steve started wiping away the blood under Thor’s left eyebrow, gingerly dabbing until the dried blood came free, either flaking off or being washed away. It took a long time, as Steve couldn’t rinse the rag and contaminate the rest of their water, and he ended up wetting and using all of the good-sized pieces of fabric. But, eventually, he got Thor to a much more passable state.

Steve wadded up the used scraps, piling them near one of the bed’s legs, and handed Thor the bucket for another drink. “You look better,” he said, flashing a smile as Thor finished with the bucket, setting it carefully back on the floor, placing it at the head of the bed, where it wouldn’t accidentally be kicked.

The statement was a half-truth—Thor certainly looked better on the surface, but the crusted blood had given way to more patches of dark bruising, and one of the cuts on left cheekbone had begun to bleed again, as if just to spite them. There were still matted patches of his beard, bits glued together with dried crimson that Steve had been unable to clean, not wanting to tug and aggravate Thor’s other facial nicks.

Thor sighed, tucking his arms into his stomach and hunching over. They sat like that, in awkward silence for a while, Steve unsure of what to say, or if saying anything was really appropriate. Eventually Thor rose, without warning or preamble, Steve watching him with concern.

“You can have the bed,” he said as he strode with as much confidence as he could muster to the far wall, dropping down to sit once more.

“You sure?”

Thor nodded, and Steve scooted farther back on the bed, lying down on his side once more, relieved at the lack of pain in his body. Like a sad dog, one too tired to even lick its wounds, Thor curled up on the floor, his hair falling and obscuring most of his face. Steve felt guilty about taking the bed, telling himself that he wouldn’t stay there long. His last few aches were almost gone, anyway (aside from the incredibly persistent hunger), and then Thor could have the bed for a majority of the time.

He dozed, never really falling asleep, instead sneaking glances at Thor, who was either snoring softly or struggling to breathe (probably some combination of the two, Steve reasoned), occasionally stirring and stretching out a stiff limb. Steve tossed and turned, eventually resigned to lying flat on his back and watching the fluorescent light flicker from behind his eyelids, thinking of what Tony and Natasha and Clint and Bruce must be doing, how Fury must be taking charge along with Coulson and Hill, of how close they had to be to finding them.

It won’t be long, Steve assured himself. It won’t be long at all.

He was unsure of how much time passed until the door opened again, light flooding the room and his senses, poor Thor jerking awake on the floor before being roughly prodded with a boot to his thigh. He tensed, eyes darting between Steve and the intimidating guard towering over him, and Steve could see the tip of an assault rifle from beyond the door, a sure sign that he hadn’t come alone.

“You, up,” came the order, and Thor started to move, his body stiff and unresponsive. After a few seconds they grew impatient, the first guard hauled Thor to his feet and in one fluid motion clamped a pair of shackles around his wrists while Thor shot him an enraged look.

Steve peered on grimly as the guard knelt and did another pair of shackles around Thor’s ankles. They were connected by a long chain, ensuring that Thor couldn’t lift his arms above his waist. All in all, it was a humiliating contraption, one that Steve had seen used on convicts, and Thor didn’t bother trying to hide his anger and disgust.

He tried to school his face into a sort of indifferent look as the guards led him from the room, but Steve saw a trace of fear leaking through a crack in Thor’s stoic façade. It seemed a resigned fear, though, one that worried Steve because it looked as though Thor was contemplating surrender before he’d even fought.

And then the door shut, sealing Steve inside alone with his thoughts, and he could do nothing but wait.

—-

Clint stopped Tony before his third consecutive pot of coffee.

At this point, he’d been up for at least forty-eight hours, subsisting on catnaps and caffeine, a combination that had gotten him through MIT and a lot of subsequent projects. But with those, there was never a sense of life-or-death urgency, never lives on the line, lives of people he knew and cared about. It was a fear that pushed Tony harder than before, that led to countless cups of coffee and a temptation to raid his liquor cabinet.

But Steve would chew him out so badly for that that Tony stayed away.

He hadn’t given up hope that they would find them. There was a cynical, twisted part of him that said he should, that said he should be realistic, that good things—like friends—didn’t really last for people like him, but that voice was quickly drowned out by memories of his own resourcefulness in an Afghan cave and by all the memories of seeing Steve’s in action, thinking on his feet. If anyone could survive, it was Steve. And Tony would do whatever was in his power to help out.

They’d been fighting with Doom when it all went down, when Cap had been isolated and Thor, their ever-loyal meat shield, had gone off, guns blazing, to rescue him. And then the both of them had...vanished. Tony had done lap after lap of surveillance, trying to find them until Phil finally told him to pack it in. Cap’s shield and Mjolnir had turned up, abandoned in the middle of the street, two eerie reminders of the teammates who’d been so very real a few hours prior.

So Tony had moved camp, to a computer screen, watching hours of satellite footage of Doom’s known hideouts. The GPS chip he’d hidden in the strapping on Steve’s shield was useless now, pinging to let Tony know that yes, the shield was indeed in his workshop, and without it Tony had no way to track Steve. That shield never left his person when they were fighting; it was Steve’s beloved weapon and one of his last ties to his old life. He never gave it up without a fight or a solid reason.

Pepper had let him go for the first day, sitting with him and keeping him company, bringing coffee down to him a couple times and taking over surveillance duty when Tony was too tired to be of any use. Tony always hated doing this to her, hated throwing her on the back burner when things like this came up, and he had apologized profusely when she had woken him up so he could keep watching.

But Pepper understood. She had always understood Tony’s obligations and personality, and she knew what she was getting into when they started this relationship. She had been well aware of his obsessive tendencies, having been his assistant for far too long, and she was often busy herself, what with managing Stark Industries now. 

And so, after Tony had started to babble, his brain groggily trying to formulate an apology, all she had said was, “I want them back, too.” Tony supposed that was why he stayed with her, because Pepper always understood, was always ready to make those little sacrifices for Tony, and in return he tried to make them for her, too, whenever it was possible.

As he watched the dull, monotonous surveillance footage, Tony’s mind sorted and sifted through ways he could find them, considering signatures and signs that he could track. Clint and Natasha tried to pull him away to get a few hours of sleep, but Tony couldn’t really rest knowing that Steve was out there in the hands of an enemy.

Sometimes, when the lack of progress frustrated him too much, Tony would put on the suit and do laps around the city, praying to whatever entity was out there that perhaps, by some sick joke of the universe, Steve and Thor would just miraculously turn up on a street corner, as if they’d taken a wrong turn and gotten lost and not kidnapped. Other times he would harass Fury, antagonize him just for the sake of being an annoyance, because he knew this wasn’t Fury’s fault, knew that Nick was on his side and was doing everything in his power to find them, but that there were things like “red tape” and other bureaucratic bullshit that Tony had never much cared for in his way.

Once, when he was tired, when he’d been cooped up in front of these screens for seven hours and no one had come by to talk to him, Tony had picked up his phone and dialed Rhodey, and they had shot the shit like nothing was wrong, like Thor and Steve were in the next room over and Tony had just called to say hi.

And now Tony was half-asleep at his desk, ostensibly still watching, though in fact JARVIS was doing most of the work, his arms folded on the table and acting like a temporary pillow while his mind ran through worst case scenarios. He jumped when Clint nudged his shoulder, nearly knocking over his mug of cold coffee, and startled awake with a snort.

“Jeez, Tony,” Clint said, taking a step back and frowning. “I didn’t think you were that out of it.”

“I’m not,” Tony lied, running a hand through his hair. It felt greasy and thin, but he hid his frown of disgust. He reached nonchalantly for the coffee. “Did you need something?” he asked, bringing the mug to his lips. It tasted awful, but he drank it anyway, if only to keep up appearances.

“Fury wants to see you. Says he finally made some kind of a breakthrough on whatever lead he was following.”

It took Tony longer than it should have to process Clint’s words. He nodded slowly, part of him crying out with joy that there was, at long last, a solution, the other half of him crushed that he hadn’t been the one to come up with it. He was Tony Stark, genius and entrepreneur, and he hadn’t even been the one to come up with a solution to save his best friend.

“Really? Someone figured it out before me? That’s a first. All right, let’s see what he came up with.”

“Uh, no offense, but I don’t think Fury will mind waiting while you take a shower.” He held up his hands to ward off Tony’s glare. “Hey, you’ve been down here for days and it’s not like we leave battle smelling like roses to start with. Except for Natasha. Still not sure how she does that, though.”

“Fine,” Tony muttered, irritated by not only the fact that someone had managed to outsmart him, but also because he was apparently incompetent and filthy. Clint backed out of the room, eyeing Tony warily, but Tony shot him a glance and he disappeared up the staircase. After giving JARVIS instructions to keep checking the footage, in case it was still needed, Tony stumbled out of his workshop, his legs stiff and uncooperative.

Fifteen minutes later, he was showered and dressed, even if he hadn’t bothered to shave and his clothes clung to damp patches of his skin. He paused only to down a quick, scalding cup of coffee and then headed to Fury’s office, where he found the director pacing before Clint, his face more tense than usual.

“You found something?” Tony said, too tired and too worried for his usual snark. He was afraid that this would be a letdown as well, just another red herring to chase, and that they would waste time and effort only for Steve to still be missing.

“I did,” Fury said, nodding in acknowledgement at both Clint and Tony. “I have a way to track down Rogers and Thor.”

Tony sat down, his heart thumping in his chest. “How? Was there something I missed on the tapes?” He was certain that R&D couldn’t have come up with anything; whatever they did in that department was either already inferior or inevitably replaced by something better of his own design.

“No, nothing like that,” Fury assured, finally sitting across the table from Tony. Clint sheepishly sat beside Tony, whose attention was fixed on Fury. “I’ve got some other projects besides your little group, and one of them just might have the solution.”

Tony nodded. He knew Fury had things that went on behind closed doors; he was director of S.H.I.E.L.D., which was a far broader organization than just the Avengers. Of course there were things that went on that Tony didn’t know about, although he wasn’t always comfortable with it.

Fury eyed the door behind them, and Clint twisted his head at the sound of the handle turning. Tony followed a beat later when he heard Clint whisper, “Oh my God.”

“This is Stephen Strange,” Fury said. “He says he can find Cap and Thor.”

Tony finished turning and he could feel the incredulity crawling across his face at the sight of the man entering and approaching the table, wondering how sadistic Fury had to be to call him down here. Stephen Strange appeared to be in his mid-forties, his hair still black save for two white tufts at his temples, a pencil mustache dotting his upper lip. But his dress contradicted any kind of credibility he might have had, for he looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance faire, clad in a blue tunic and gray leggings. Leggings, Tony marveled. Is he for real?

“Is this some kind of a joke?” he snapped, glaring at Fury as Strange approached the table.

“Stark, before you make any kind of—”

“You call us down here, tell us you’ve got a way to find out friends, take away time that I could be spending looking for them, to bring this guy in?” He stood up abruptly, backing away from the table, glaring at Fury and then at Strange, who raised a brow in bemusement.

Fury stood, bracing his hands on the table. “Stark, sit your ass down,” he said, his voice low and serious, and for a moment, all of Tony’s instincts protested, told him to get the hell out and get back to his real work, but he choked it down when he saw the seriousness in Fury’s eye.

Tony sat.

“Before you go running your mouth about how this is a joke, know that I would not bother to order you down here if I didn’t believe the man myself. I had a hard time at first, and I always have a hard fuckin’ time with this kind of shit, but Strange is a good guy. I had to go through a lot of red tape to get this little sit-down arranged.” He eyed Clint and Tony. “So I don’t want either of you two going on about this, understood?”

Tony sullenly glared at Strange, who had folded his hands on the table before him, waiting patiently. “Fine,” he grumbled.

“Good.” Fury looked to Strange for a reaction.

“I realize you must think I’m full of it, Mr. Stark,” Strange said, and his tone was defensive, “but I do know where your friends are, and they are indeed in Latveria, but not in one of the camps you’ve been so meticulously watching.” He paused, and his face softened a bit. “If you can get me a map, I can show you where they are.”

Fury cleared his throat and sat back down. “Strange came forward shortly after Cap and Thor disappeared, saying something about disturbances.” He held his hand up to silence any protests on his terminology. “I don’t know all your lingo, Doc, so bear with me. From what he’s explained to us, and what I can get out of it, he thinks that Loki’s involved.”

Tony folded his arms over his chest. That would explain how their teammates had disappeared in a matter of seconds, during the time it took for Tony to hear silence on his intercom and fly a block and a half, but Tony was reluctant to admit that Strange’s supposition might have some credibility.

“I’m putting together some men and equipment,” Fury said, turning to Tony and Clint. That he was proposing a search and rescue mission in what was the heart of enemy territory spoke of Fury’s dedication to this plan and belief in this man, and Tony cautiously looked over. “How soon can you be ready?”

“As soon as I can get my suit,” Tony said.


	2. Chapter 2

Without a watch, Steve had no accurate way to tell time, aside from counting, and even that was relatively unreliable. He was a man, not a metronome, and keeping his seconds perfectly even and timed tended to stray after the first few minutes, even in the best conditions. Some men had an intrinsic sense of the passing of time, but he wasn’t one of them. There wasn’t even a change in light to guide him, either—the fluorescent bulb buzzed at all hours, regardless of day or night. Sometimes Steve wished it would go out, just for a change, but in the back of his mind he knew being trapped in darkness would be much worse.

He passed the time by engaging himself in mock conversations with his teammates, wondering just what Bruce would say if he were stuck in this room, what kind of a snappy joke Clint would make, or what kind of sardonic remark Tony would have. To Steve, Thor was big and foreign, strangely alien in more than just his origins, with his speech patterns always a bit off and power that Steve couldn’t fathom at his fingertips. It was easier to imagine he was stuck here with one of the others.

But it was Thor that the guards dragged back to the cell.

The door was wrenched open, and Thor shoved inside, receiving a swift kick to his thigh when he didn’t move fast enough. Steve saw him start to crumple, catching himself, and he was sure Thor’s pride prevented him. Instead, he stood gritting his teeth until the guards unlocked him and shut the door once more, Thor bristling and staring after them.

“You okay?” Steve asked, and Thor glanced over at him. His gaze was startled, as if Steve had just interrupted some long train of thought, or pulled Thor from a daze.

Thor nodded, shakily sitting down on the bed. He didn’t look any worse for the wear—in fact, if anything, he looked better. The blood had been cleaned from the wounds on his face, although it still clung to his hair in patches, and his hauberk had been wiped down as well. The metal was still tarnished in places, but without the sight of crusted blood on it, it had regained a large part of its regalness.

“What happened?”

Slowly, with great deliberateness, Thor blinked several times before he spoke. “They took me to a…a room, a hall, a hall like the ones we have in Asgard.”

“And?” Steve pressed.

“Doom was there. Or perhaps it was not Doom himself, but…” Thor trailed off, gesturing with his hands. Steve understood. Doom was smart enough to rarely involve himself in a physical confrontation. There were too many factors he couldn’t control, too many ways a situation could go wrong and result in his injury. So Doom had other means—typically robotic ones—that he turned to instead of his actual presence.

“He was speaking with Sin.” Thor paused to cross his arms over his chest. “Sin, the daughter of the Red Skull.”

Thor looked at him, dead in the eye, his face now gravely worried. “Loki…he was there.” He said the words in disbelief, as if he didn’t want them to be true; Thor had always harbored this strange affection for his villainous brother. Steve’s mouth fell slightly agape, a million questions poised on the tip of his tongue, but before he could ask one, Thor continued. “I…I believe Doom means to sell us, if my interpretation of their conversations are correct.”

“He said that?”

“They were discussing prices.” Thor hunched over a bit more. “One of the parties inquired as to my condition.” He absentmindedly reached up to touch the collar on his neck. “No doubt due to this.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek as Thor sighed unhappily. He looked as though he wanted to hit something, and Steve knew if that collar were gone Thor would have easily punched a hole clean through the door.

Hell, if that collar were absent, they wouldn’t still be sitting in this cell.

—-  
Sleep eluded Steve.

He had too many unanswered questions now; Thor’s meeting had raised countless more and only answered a handful. They knew that Doom had them, but they didn’t know where or why, and the fact that Loki and Sin were involved served only to add another level of anxiety to their situation.

Don’t worry, he told himself. Tony and Phil and Fury are looking for you. They’ll find you.

He swallowed thickly and rolled over on the floor, now facing the cot. His hunger snapped at him again, demanding Steve’s attention, and while thoughts of their plight were more pressing, it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Why haven’t Tony and the others found us yet?

He gritted his teeth. I’m sure they’re working as fast as they can. You know Tony. He wouldn’t abandon you.

Steve’s deep sigh resonated around the room. Sounds of shuffling followed, and Steve could hear the bed creaking. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself staring at Thor’s boots, Thor half-leaning over him, casting Steve in shadow as his figure blocked out the fluorescent light.

“Rogers?” he asked, quietly, and there was unmistakable concern in his voice.

“Yes?”

“You seem…distressed.”

“I’m fine, Thor.”

“Are you certain?”

Stomach rumbling once more, Steve pondered the prospect of opening up to Thor. He was harmless, Steve knew—there wasn’t a malicious bone in Thor’s whole body. Whatever Steve told him would stay with him if Steve asked him to keep it secret, and Thor wasn’t a gossip anyway. Thor was close with Clint and Natasha, but he wouldn’t tell them something like this. Steve knew Thor respected him too much for that.

“I’m just worried,” Steve admitted. “Worried that nobody’s going to get here in time.”

“They will,” Thor said, but Steve could hear the fear and uncertainty in his voice. “Stark is a genius and the others are extremely persistent and dedicated. They will find us, I’m certain.”

“Despite having Loki for a brother, you’re a pretty crummy liar,” Steve commented.

Thor frowned. “My brother’s behavior has no bearing on mine.”

“I’m saying it should have,” Steve said. “And you don’t think they’ll make it in time, either.”

“Regardless of any doubts I may have, I know that the others will not abandon their search for us. If others were in our stead, we would not stop searching for them.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “You’re right,” he murmured. His stomach groaned in protest, ruining Steve’s temporary relief, and Steve sighed, trying to mask the sound, but Thor raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “I’m just hungry,” Steve stated. Well, that was an understatement. “The serum increased my metabolism, and to compensate for how many calories I burn, I have to eat a lot. Otherwise, I...start to starve.” The confession came with a thick swallow, as the grim thought that he might starve before they were rescued set in.

Thor’s brows rose, his mouth falling agape, and Steve sensed a concerned comment would follow. “I’m sure you’re hungry, too,” he added sullenly. Steve rolled over, shut his eyes, and feigned sleep until he heard Thor begin to snore softly.

—-  
Loki’s smile was deeply disturbing as Thor was led into the room.

It was all Thor could think about as the guards were dismissed and his hands unshackled, for that smile meant that Loki was up to something, devising some scheme in his head. That frightened Thor, for that was when his brother was most dangerous. And now Loki had arguably free reign over him and the captain, something that Thor knew boded poorly for them.

Steve was starving. Thor could see it now. He had, for a time, tried to mask his injured state from his comrade, and he was certain that Steve would do the same if asked about it. But it was easy to see that Steve was suffering; Thor knew he had to eat much more frequently than Tony or the others, although he’d never known just why until a short while ago. But while he knew Steve was uncomfortable, he hadn’t know the extent of it, although he assumed it had to be severe for him to show any signs of discomfort.

Thor’s thoughts were still preoccupied with Steve as Loki approached him, holding a leather leash in his hands, which he swiftly fastened to Thor’s padlock.

“My dear brother,” he said, condescendingly, and used the leash to lead his brother back to the stone “throne” of sorts he had at the front of the room. Thor went willingly—it was better to submit to Loki rather than anger him with attempted defiance, since Thor couldn’t match his brother’s power in this state. He didn’t know what kind of games Loki had in mind today—they were usually humiliating tasks, ones designed to remind Thor that he was weak and inferior at the present moment, but nothing that ever required Loki to get his hands dirty.

Thor crouched at the foot of the dais as Loki seated himself effortlessly in the throne. Loki twisted the strap in his hands, and Thor turned to face him, sitting on his heels, with his hands folded in his lap. At this change of posture, Loki cocked a brow, but said nothing.

“Loki,” Thor began, and he looked down at the ground, trying to make himself as humble as possible. Loki might have thought himself wonderfully deep and dark and complex, completely beyond Thor’s comprehension, yet Thor knew what he wanted, how he liked to be treated. “I...I have a request of you, if you would hear me.”

Loki snorted in laughter. “A request, Thor? I sit here holding your leash and you have the gall to request something of me?” 

Thor shook his head, hunching his shoulders more. “I meant no offense by it,” he continued. “I simply worry for the captain.”

“Oh?”

“You needn’t bother yourself. I’m certain he will be fine.” Thor smoothed out the creases in his pants restlessly. 

Loki leaned forward. “And why do you worry for him, dear brother?”

“It’s nothing,” Thor said. He had to fight the urge to smile. Loki always believed himself the master-manipulator, yet he had never realized just how easily he could be duped.

He was suddenly jerked forward as Loki yanked hard on the leash, drawing Thor close to his face. For a split second, there was real fear in Thor’s eyes, fear that he had miscalculated, had pushed Loki too far and would now pay direly for it, but Loki made no further movements, just watching him with a vicious sneer. “I asked you a question, Thor.”

“He...I fear the captain may be starving,” Thor explained. “He needs to eat far more frequently than the other mortals.”

Loki’s eyes went distant for a moment, and Thor knew he was thinking. It wouldn’t serve Loki well to have one of his captives die, especially from something so easily remedied, and Loki certainly knew that. After a moment’s contemplation, he released Thor and then beckoned several of the guards over.

“Set up the tables there,” he said. “Make a feast for our beloved Rogers.”

When Loki had dismissed him, Thor offered a meek, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Brother.”

—-

When the guards returned, Steve was slightly more awake, although the events of a few hours prior when Thor was dragged off felt like a fuzzy dream. This time he went more willingly, casting one sad glance at Steve, who feigned sleep once again but cracked an eye open when no one was looking to see Thor hauled away. He seemed more reserved, more…broken, which frightened Steve. If Thor could break, what was to stop him from following suit? 

Steve expected them to shove Thor back inside, like they always had before, but instead, they stepped inside and demanded that he stand. Steve did, slowly, shakily, his head spinning as he got to his feet. He didn’t want to cause any kind of trouble, not when he was so weak and hungry. He was manacled and led from the cell without a word.

The guards had little patience for him, and Steve had to put all of his energy and focus into walking and keeping pace with them. It was hard not to stumble—his legs were stiff from lying so long and his head kept throbbing from hunger—but he managed, grateful when the two guards stopped at a wide, arched tunnel.

They nudged Steve along until he emerged at the other end, walking into what appeared to be a dimly-lit gathering hall. Dully, his mind reminded him that Thor had spoken of one, and Steve assumed that this must be it. He slowly took in the long table, one adorned with great serving dishes laden with food, and the smell was overpowering, his stomach rumbling in frustration. Just past the far end of the table was a chair—no, Steve realized, more of a throne—and Steve stopped in his tracks when he saw who sat in it.

Thor had been right. His brother was here, sitting casually with his legs thrown over one arm of the chair and his back resting against the other, but what truly shocked Steve was not Loki but the sight of Thor. Loki had shoved Thor down, forced him to sit by the side of the throne, like some harem girl, and the overwhelming subjugation of the scene was only reinforced by the thin leather leash that Loki held in his hand, one that ran to the padlock on Thor’s collar.

Steve swallowed thickly as he approached, and Thor looked away when Steve’s eyes settled on him.

“Hello, Rogers,” Loki said, grinning, toying with the handle of his leash and never taking his eyes off it. “Enjoying your stay?”

Steve didn’t dignify the question with a response.

“Go on, sit,” Loki said, gesturing at the head of the table. His green eyes flitted over to meet Steve’s, and the smirk on his face gave Steve a small chill. Reluctantly, he sat, kicking the chair out a bit before collapsing into it and resting his chained wrists on the table.

“Take what you like, Steve,” Loki continued, twisting the leash between his fingers. “The feast is for you, courtesy of my dear brother.”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, come now. It’s not poisoned, I assure you.” Loki pouted, and Steve looked to Thor for some kind of explanation, but Thor only turned away again, too ashamed to meet Steve’s gaze. His shoulders hunched up, and he twisted the shackles around his wrists, and Steve could tell that he wanted to wring Loki’s neck with that damn leash.

Steve knew it wasn’t poisoned. Their captor, be it Loki or another party, had kept them alive this long; there must have been a reason for doing so. Otherwise, what was to stop them from simply killing them both on the battlefield? Why waste the time, energy and resources to capture the two of them?

Loki laughed sardonically. “Look, Brother. You begged me so nicely for this food for Rogers, and he won’t even touch it. Ever the fool, aren’t you?” He gave the leash a playful tug, and Thor winced.

Steve blinked in surprise, eyes flitting over to Thor. For the first time, they made eye contact, and the look in Thor’s eyes was utterly humiliated. He must have thrown himself at Loki’s feet, Steve reasoned. Thrown himself at Loki’s feet and begged.

Well, Steve wouldn’t let it be in vain.

He reached out and took an apple, biting into it without a second thought, juice running down his chin as he claimed a huge bite. He had almost devoured the whole thing, his stomach finally ceasing its cacophony of growling, when Loki spoke again.

“There, isn’t that better?”

Steve’s eyes darted to look up at him as he tore another chunk from the apple with his teeth. “Thank you,” he murmured when he had finished chewing.

“Thank my brother,” Loki said, with a devious glint now in his eyes. He swung his legs off the arm of the chair and yanked hard on the leash, pulling Thor to sit in front of the chair in a sprawling heap. It took Thor a second to compose himself, and then Steve watched in curious horror as he got onto all fours, Loki resting his heels in the center of Thor’s spine.

Thor sighed, and Steve questioned the value of this food versus the humiliation of his teammate. It seemed completely wrong to let Thor do this for Steve’s sake, but Steve reasoned that he wasn’t being physically harmed. There wasn’t any kind of lasting damage from being a footstool for a few minutes, was there?

As Steve reached for a slice of some kind of roast, he decided that he’d make it up to Thor when they were back at the mansion. He didn’t care that his hands were filthy; the food was delicious and it was all he could focus on right now. The slice of meat was quickly devoured, and Steve then reached for a whole chicken and a small loaf of bread.

Soon nothing but crumbs remained of the bread, and the chicken had been stripped to the bone, the last few morsels of meat being eagerly plucked and stuffed into Steve’s mouth. Loki laughed in bemusement, and Thor hung his head slightly; Steve figured he would have to do something really, really good for him when they were back on base.

“Surely, Rogers, you must have questions,” Loki said, glancing down at Thor and not-so-subtly digging his heels into his brother’s back. “Or are you so enamored with the feast before you that they’ve all been forgotten?”

He finished his current bite, swallowing dryly. “I didn’t think I’d been brought up here for a discussion.”

Thor fidgeted, and Loki’s face turned dark for a moment as he delivered a savage kick to his brother’s thigh, one that made Steve flinch from its severity. Steve abruptly stopped chewing, and after a moment, Loki’s face returned to its normal cunning expression, and he looked at Steve once more. “You’re free to ask anything you like,” he said, “although I may choose not to answer it.”

Steve mulled over the prospect while he devoured another slice of the roast. “Are you working with Doom?” he asked. Of course Loki was, he knew—Steve just wanted confirmation.

“Indeed,” Loki said, “although as you can see, he has largely…left me to my own devices for the time being.”

“What about Sin?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rogers.”

Some more bread and a wedge of cheese served to bide his time while he formulated more questions. “What are you planning to do with us? You’ve kept us alive for some reason.”

“That I have, but you aren’t privy to that information.” He tugged lightly on the leash. “Perhaps I simply enjoy having my brother as a footrest. He does do a splendid job, doesn’t he? I’m sure he’d function well as a bench, too—he’s certainly large enough.”

“Can he have some of this, too?” Steve asked, gesturing at the laden plates before him.

“Perhaps later, if I see it fit,” Loki said. He pursed his lips and Thor looked up at him, unable to quite hide the small expression of hope. But Steve didn’t think that Loki would be so kind, at least to his brother. He harbored such a ferocious animosity towards Thor, one that even Steve—for all Thor’s faults—knew wasn’t justified, and one that certainly never vanished nor waned in all the years they’d been fighting.

Steve didn’t say anything, instead dropping his eyes to the wide stone dais the throne sat on as he idly ate another apple. “How many days have we been here?”

“Three.”

That was it? It had seemed like much long. “How long do you plan to keep us here?”

“As long as I like.”

Steve, mouth half-full of apple, pointed at Thor. “Did you…did you make that collar?”

Loki tilted his head, pulling his feet from Thor and roughly grabbing his brother by the neck, hauling Thor onto his knees. “This?” he asked, leaning forward, purposely holding his hand high and beginning to strangle Thor on the collar, Thor’s hands clumsily trying to pull it off. “I fashioned this particular one, yes, but the magic is old, as I’m sure my brother told you.” He hoisted Thor higher, and one of Thor’s hands fell away as his face began to redden. “Wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

“Superb,” Steve said, hoping Loki wouldn’t choke Thor to death. “Why did you make it?”

“I made it so I could spend some ‘quality time’ with my darling brother, of course,” Loki said, drawing unnaturally close to Thor. Thor’s eyes looked over at his brother pleadingly, one hand reaching out for Loki.

“You should let him down.”

“Why?” Loki cooed. “This isn’t hurting him.” Reluctantly, with a petulant sigh, Loki dropped him, sneering as he did so, and Thor sucked in a massive breath as he hit the dais, propping himself up on his elbows and knees. “How fragile you are without your powers, Brother. I forget.”

Thor coughed, but said nothing. Steve wondered if the reason he didn’t snap at Loki was due to his weakened state, but he had a feeling that Thor wouldn’t have done it anyway, even if his powers were restored. Thor had a soft spot for Loki that came up at unreasonable times and vanished when Loki could have used it.

With a few final coughs, Thor ventured a glance at Steve, one that Steve could tell was supposed to be subtle but didn’t escape Loki, who leaned over him. “Are you hungry, Brother? I can see you eyeing that food on the table.” Loki patted Thor’s head in a horridly condescending matter. “You must be famished in that state of yours, and your friend did ask so nicely….”

A small smile played on Steve’s lips. Thor’s suffering hadn’t been in vain; he would shortly be fed as well. But when Loki leaned back, with that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that made Steve’s fist clench, Steve knew it wouldn’t be so easy. Loki’s right hand moved in slow, absentminded circles, the left still holding the leash, and Steve could see that he was silently mouthing words, which was common when he was spellcasting.

And so, when a plastic dog bowl appeared in Loki’s hands, Steve really shouldn’t have been surprised. Smiling to himself, clearly pleased, Loki set the bowl down, nudging it towards Thor with his foot. The scrape of plastic on stone was awful, and Thor looked at the bowl in disgust before turning up to his brother. Steve could see the word “THOR” printed on the side of it in fat black letters.

Oh, no.

Loki leaned back, twisting the leash with renewed eagerness. “Rogers,” he began, tilting his head toward the table, “why don’t you pick out something for him to eat?”

Steve swallowed thickly, resting his hands on the table. He could delegate the matter, could refuse, but that opened up the possibility that Loki might not feed Thor. Or worse, that he would choose something horrible for him, and Steve didn’t want to risk that. But choosing something himself put even more responsibility and blame on Steve, and it was already his fault that Thor had to eat out of a plastic dog dish with his name on it.

Well, not entirely Steve’s fault. Loki was certainly more than a little to blame as well.

Steve scanned the items left before him, deciding that Thor probably wasn’t going to get anything outside of what Steve gave him. So he settled on two thick slices of the roast, picking them up and trying to touch them only at the edges, noting just how filthy his hands were. Grimacing, he stood, and Loki beckoned him forward, while Thor sat and rested on his heels.

When Steve crouched before him, Thor refused to look at him again, instead staring down at his left knee and hunching over. Steve set the slices in the bowl, tearing them up with his fingers into small pieces as Loki looked on, bemused. Only when Steve was rising to go did Thor look at him, and his expression was so downtrodden and utterly humiliated that Steve had to suck in a quick breath to steel himself.

He turned his back, not wanting to be an express witness to his friend’s degradation, and trudged slowly back to the chair, the food he’d eaten heavy in his now-full stomach. Thor was still staring at the bowl as Steve looked back over, and Loki had leaned forward, mock concern on his face.

“What’s wrong, Thor? Not to your liking?” He pouted, sticking out his lower lip. “Well, come on. Eat up.” He grabbed the collar and forced Thor down, Thor bracing himself on his hands at the last second and staring at the bowl anxiously. Loki, who had clearly lost his patience at this point, suddenly leaned forward and grabbed a handful of Thor’s hair, shoving him facefirst into the bowl and holding him there for a long second.

Steve flinched at the table, hearing the pained grunt Thor made when his broken nose hit the lip of the bowl. He breathed harshly through it, the sounds fading out as Loki continued to hold him there, regarding Thor with a sort of savage curiosity, lip curled into a sneer.

“At least you know better than to bite the hand that feeds you,” he spat, pushing Thor down one final time before he let him up. “Go on, Brother. Eat up.”

Thor’s head pulled out of the bowl, and Steve could see a fresh trail of blood running down his chin from his nose, his face stained with grease and bits of gristle. His eyes were blank, distant, unfocused, but his jaw was, apparently, chewing, albeit slowly, his disdain and despair evident. Loki let him continue undisturbed for a few minutes, striking Thor sharply on the back when he reached for the bowl with his hands, but otherwise leaving him be.

Eventually, Loki sniffed, nudging Thor back on all fours and putting his feet back up. “Finish up, Rogers,” he ordered, and Steve stuffed what he could in his mouth, certain that he wouldn’t be allowed to take anything with him. Loki gestured to the guards, beckoning them forward with a wave of his hands, and Steve found himself pulled up at the shoulders and led away from the chair.

As he was dragged from the room, he twisted to look at Thor over his shoulder, still bent over and being used as his brother’s furniture. Steve would certainly have to thank him for this effort.

Perhaps Steve had misjudged Thor.

—-

Steve was almost asleep when the guards brought Thor back.

The sounds of the door opening jerked him awake, and he was pushing himself up just as the last of the manacles were removed from Thor. Silently, Thor watched as the guards pulled the door shut, and he stood still for a long moment after the tumblers had fallen silent.

With a heavy sigh, he turned his back to the door, facing Steve on the cot—although he didn’t look at him—and sat down, back to the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest. Steve rested his hands on either side of him, sitting skittishly on the edge of the bed.

Thor leaned his head back, hitting the concrete wall with a soft thump, and Steve waited for him to say something. But nothing came aside from minutes of uncomfortable silence, and Steve bit his lip. “You okay?” he asked, and after a long second, Thor nodded hesitantly.

“Thank you for what you did today,” Steve murmured. “I—”

“I did nothing,” Thor said flatly, looking down at his wrists, which were red and chafed.

“The food, you—”

“If our captors chose to feed you,” Thor said deliberately, rubbing his left wrist and tilting his heads back, “it was without my influence.”

In that second, Steve understood. Thor didn’t want to think about his humiliation, and he would deny any evidence of its existence. That Steve had played witness to it must have been unbearable for him, which was probably why Thor seemed so insistent. Steve knew that if it were him in Thor’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to acknowledge such a thing either, especially immediately after it had happened.

“You can have the cot,” Steve said, rising from it, and Thor looked confused for a long second. “It’s yours.”

He reached down, holding out a hand to help Thor up, but Thor didn’t move for a moment. Instead, he stared at Steve, perplexed by this sudden benevolence, and Steve gave a sad half-smile. However reluctant or confused he might have been, however, Thor eventually reached up and took Steve’s arm, Steve helping to pull him to his feet and watching as Thor pathetically limped to the bed.

He collapsed on it like a rag doll, curling up on his side with his back to Steve, and Steve wished he could simply drift through the wall and leave Thor alone with his thoughts. It didn’t feel right, just sitting here, after what Thor had done for him.

“Thanks anyway,” Steve said, very quietly, afraid that Thor would hear him but feeling the need to say it regardless.

Silence settled about the room, and Steve nearly thought he was off the hook, until, with a long sigh, Thor said, “Think nothing of it.”

—-

When Thor woke, Steve was still fast asleep.

He was curled on his side, breathing softly, one arm drawn up towards his face, and he looked surprisingly peaceful. It was good to see him out of pain and free from hunger, and Thor smiled weakly as he silently sat up on the bed, swinging his legs over and carefully resting his feet on the concrete. Steve stirred in his sleep, but didn’t wake.

The floor was uncomfortable, Thor knew, having slept on it himself before, and he was certain that the guards would come for him within a few hours. While it seemed cruel to wake Steve, he was certain that he would appreciate the chance to use the bed, and so Thor rose, crossed the small room, and crouched beside him.

“Captain Rogers,” he whispered, nudging Steve’s shoulder gently until Steve’s blue eyes fluttered open.

“Something wrong?” Steve asked, looking up at Thor with a mixture of confusion and worry.

“No, nothing,” Thor reassured him. “Take the bed.”

“You sure?”

Thor nodded. Steve didn’t protest any further, instead sitting up, rubbing his shoulder, which had to be stiff from lying there, and then taking Thor’s hand as he helped him up. He stumbled to the bed and curled up on it while Thor slumped against the wall with nothing to do but wait.

He wondered what new forms of humiliation Loki would have devised for him today. There was always something new, like the leash and the dog bowl, but the fact that Loki had allowed Steve to eat gave Thor a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, if he were smart about it, there would be other things to gain.

Thor’s gaze wandered up to Steve’s face. He didn’t regret what he did for Steve, not one bit, and if given the choice and knowing the outcome, Thor would have done it again in a heartbeat. What was a few minutes of his humiliation compared to Steve’s survival? 

Of course, his intentions weren’t completely noble. A part of him desperately wanted Steve to like him, to accept him the way he had Clint and Tony and the others, to stop eyeing him with caution and disdain at times. And if this would get him approval...well, then, Thor would just grin and bear it. 

He understood now why the others had flocked to Rogers and fallen in-line with his command. He was a natural leader, much like Thor had been, level-headed and responsible, and quite often a brilliant tactician, but he lacked Thor’s rashness, instead preferring to weigh his options before he made any decision. Handsome, confident and capable—yes, Thor understood why the others gravitated toward him.

But perhaps now Steve would warm up to him as well. He had always been courteous, but they were never close, and Thor had always held respect for the Captain, and wanted to get to know him the way he had Clint and Natasha. Rogers was every bit the fighter, the warrior, that Thor was, and he had come from these people, not been sent to protect them by forces more powerful. He was different from Stark--Stark, while amiable towards Thor, had never expressed an interest in getting to know him beyond the superficial level, much like Steve had. Thor always suspected that if his brother had not made the choices he had, he would have gotten along very well with Stark.

Rogers shifted on the bed, tucking his chin towards his chest, and Thor leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and waiting.

—-

Thor’s mood was far more dejected.

Steve had always wondered if Loki had done something to Thor more than simple physical torment, if he had crossed the line from humiliation to some kind of unforgivable act. Thor’s relationship with his brother wasn’t the clearest, and some of the things they said to one another could certainly give one the wrong impression; for a long time, the group had wondered if there was some kind of incest going on in the House of Odin, but Thor had assured them there wasn’t.

The second time they took Thor after the food incident, Steve asked. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Thor said, weary and curt, staring down at his knees as he sat against the wall.

“Are you sure?”

“I am fine,” he insisted, and Steve expected Thor to look up at him, with those angry, clear blue eyes, but he kept them on his knees. Steve made a mental note to keep checking on him, to keep his eyes out for any kind of abuse that went beyond Loki’s simple games, but he knew he couldn’t broach the subject head-on. Thor didn’t want to acknowledge his prior humiliation; if Steve were to bring this up, the damage might be irreparable. 

“Sorry,” Steve said, but Thor refused to speak with him until the next time he was taken away. By this point, Steve was so hungry again he could barely concentrate on anything, and even sleeping was difficult. His head was a hornet’s nest of angry hunger pangs and anxiety that worsened as time went on. There was no Tony, there was no Fury, there was no Natasha or Bruce or Clint or any of them, and Steve was rapidly losing hope.

He would curl up on the cot when they took Thor, facing the door, eyes locked on it until they returned his companion, his one tie to his old life and a large part of what was keeping Steve together. It was comforting to just have company around, and the hours in which Thor was absent were agonizing, for Steve feared that he wouldn’t ever come back.

Twice he fell asleep on the cot, dozing lightly, and when he woke Thor had been back for some time, but hadn’t had the heart to wake Steve and had instead curled up on the floor. But tonight, Steve was determined to leave the cot for Thor; he was still injured, and he needed it.

And so, Steve quietly curled up on the concrete after Thor was taken for the third time. Yet his stomach refused to be quiet.

It was hard to accept that he was starving again, that Thor’s sacrifice had yielded such a short tern result. His head ached and his hunger pains were beyond gnawing, having progressed into full on chomping, the pain loud and distracting and furious. Steve shut his eyes and rolled tighter into a ball on the floor, wishing he could just block out the sensations and fall asleep. He was tired and hungry and too weak to remedy either situation, lying helpless on a concrete floor.

When the door opened, Steve didn’t have the strength to greet Thor aside from a soft mumble, and he heard the large man step over him and climb onto the cot. They lay in silence for a while, Steve’s stomach carrying on a conversation with itself, loudly voicing its discontent at not being regularly fed for the past few days. Thor would toss and turn on the mattress, obviously distressed by the sounds that Steve was making, especially when he groaned, low and pained, but he said nothing for a long while.

Eventually, he broke. “Captain Rogers?” Thor’s voice was reserved and strangely concerned.

“It’s Steve,” he murmured.

“Steve,” Thor corrected, “are you all right?”

“M’fine,” Steve mumbled before his stomach groaned loudly again in protest. Suddenly there were hands on his body, at his shoulders, pulling him up to his feet and helping him onto the bed. It was soft and warm (Thor had been lying there, he was so warm, almost too warm), and then Steve was propped on his side and Thor was lying down next to him.

“I’ll…floor,” he managed, pushing weakly at Thor’s chest.

A strong arm grabbed his and forced it down. “Stay,” Thor ordered. Steve sighed in protest and shut his eyes for a long second as a particularly nasty flare of pain sparked in his stomach. Thor held his arm, a tether to remind him that there were things outside the pain in his head and his gut. Steve felt dizzy, and the sensation of vertigo quickly overpowered him, his eyes snapping open to anchor himself.

Thor was staring at him, worry wrought on his face, and Steve gave a weary smile. He blinked a few times, slowly, the dizziness merging with the buzz of his headache. Thor shifted his gaze down, thick lashes covering his blue eyes, and Steve exhaled softly, prompting Thor to look back up.

His gaze was different, was darker and vaguely…curious, with a soft hunger lighting his eyes. Steve knew that look, knew the desire behind it—he’d seen it on the faces of other men around women, had seen it in the faces of a few pretty girls during the war. Was Thor…was Thor attracted to him, like those girls had been? No, he couldn’t be, Thor wasn’t like that. There had been Jane Foster and then he had that girl back in Asgard and—

—and Steve couldn’t deny that look. It was there. It was most certainly there, and Thor blinked and looked away and Steve wasn’t sure when he had gotten so handsome. Strong nose, square jaw, and those bright blue eyes, ones that Steve had always thought so naïve and clueless, were now piercing and clear.

Steve’s mouth fell slightly agape, and he watched Thor’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. They seemed so close now (when had they gotten so close?), and he could see every detail on Thor’s face. He wasn’t sure which of them moved first; it seemed to be a joint effort, inching closer and closer, eyes lowering in lust until…

…until Thor’s mouth was pressed against his, ever so softly, hesitantly, like Steve were made of glass and would break if too much force were applied. Thor’s lips were rough, his beard tickling Steve’s face, and Steve kissed him a little harder. They broke for a second, just enough to take a quick breath, and then they kissed again, this time more eager, more urgent, and Steve smelled the salt and blood on Thor’s skin, felt his breath warm on his flesh, heard the soft sigh he uttered in the midst of their embrace. Thor was warm and comforting and Steve thought he would just lie here forever—

—but Thor was a man and oh no what had he done Thor was a man Steve wasn’t supposed to do things like that it was wrong he had been told it was very, very wrong they threw people out of the army for this they had to stop—

Steve jerked away, eyes flaring open, and Thor did the same, both of them scrambling up, Steve sitting up at the head of the bed and Thor scurrying down to the foot. They were both panting, stealing glances at one another, yet too afraid to make eye contact, too afraid to acknowledge the other. Steve swallowed thickly, trying to compose himself before he said anything.

“I’m not…I’m not gay,” he stammered. “I don’t like guys.”

“I as well,” Thor said, and Steve could see that his hands were shaking.

“Okay.” Steve eased himself into a more comfortable position. “Good.”

They sat in awkward, tenuous silence for a while, Thor relaxing visibly and Steve eventually calming himself down. His head was still swimming, his stomach still aching, and now there was this added confusion. “Let’s not tell anyone about this.”

“Agreed.”

—-

Thor couldn’t sleep.

There were simply too many thoughts buzzing around his head, and for a while he had tried to ignore them, to get some measure of rest, but they kept returning. Eventually, he had abandoned the struggle, knowing that he’d be awake for some time yet, and knowing that he’d pay for it tomorrow.

They had kissed.

All of his thoughts kept circling around it. Thor didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to acknowledge the hot little flash of illicit pleasure he’d gotten from that kiss. No, he liked women, he liked Sif and Jane and Natasha. Not men like Steve Rogers.

He had known of men who took other men as lovers. It was a shameful thing, all of it, never spoken of unless to insult one of the parties involved. To accuse someone of being involved in such a relationship was a grave insult by itself. Thor couldn’t fathom the thought of such an insult being thrown at him, and he would never be able to accept the thought that such an insult would have a grain of truth to it.

Thor screwed his eyes shut a bit tighter. This had all been brought on by stress, it had to have been. Rogers wasn’t...that kind of man, and they were both exhausted and frightened. They had been confused, sought a moment’s comfort with one another, one that they had both recognized almost immediately was wrong.

Yes, Thor thought, that must have been it. 

\---

The following day, they came for Steve as well as Thor.

Steve was still woozy, the adrenaline from his…encounter…having worn off and been replaced by the frighteningly familiar sensations of light-headedness due to hunger. He hadn’t said a word to Thor since it had happened, let alone made eye contact; he was paranoid that if he looked at the man he’d feel that strange same attraction or something similar would happen. Thor, for his part, seemed to feel the same. He’d spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor, back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest.

When the guards came, he stood up, almost eagerly, and waited to be shackled. Steve figured he wasn’t too eager to be humiliated by Loki, but that he just wanted some time to clear his head. A little time apart, he figured, would do them both good. He wouldn’t mind a few hours alone in the room, either.

Yet one of the guards stepped further into the room and nudged Steve with the butt of his gun. He jerked and before he had time to react, someone was hauling him to his feet and slapping cuffs carelessly on him, and then dragging him from the room behind Thor.

As they started down the hall, Thor twisted to look back at Steve, who was doing his best to keep up. He was nauseous and weak, but determined not to fall, stumbling occasionally yet steadying himself.

They were taken to the same great hall as before, only this time, Doom sat in the throne at the head of the table, Loki sitting to his immediate right, and Sin—Thor was right, Steve mused—to his left. Standing behind her were several Hydra guards; Steve recognized the red logo embroidered on their sleeves. She surveyed him, tilting her head back in disapproval, and then turned to Doom.

“I thought you said he was healthy,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, her ponytail swinging slightly. “He looks like he’s half-dead already.”

“I didn’t think you needed him alive for your purposes, Sin,” Loki said, leaning back to put his feet up on the table. “Well, alive for long, anyway.”

She leaned forward, staring directly at Loki. “Just because you like to play cat and mouse with your brother—”

Doom silenced her by holding up one armor-covered hand. “He is yours to take, Cynthia, and I can assure you, despite his appearance, he is healthy and unharmed.”

Loki grinned smugly. Sin sighed and gestured her guards, who approached Steve, checking his manacles before leading him to stand with them behind her. He stared anxiously at Thor, and the same question had to be running through both of their minds—where were the others?

Tony hadn’t come to save them.

Fury and Coulson hadn’t been able to find them. Natasha, Bruce and Clint weren’t going to rescue them.

It couldn’t be over this easily, could it? Steve could see Thor pulling at his chains, could see the temptation in his eyes to run, to attack his nearest captor, but they both knew it wouldn’t yield any results besides beating and humiliation. Neither of them was strong enough to take on all their foes. Instead, Steve resigned himself, shuffling to stand behind Sin and now surrounded by Hydra guards. When he looked back over, Thor was just as defeated, the light having vanished from his eyes. Their only hope now was to stay alive and give the others more time to mount a rescue.

“I believe we’re done here, then,” Doom said from the throne. Steve stared at his boots for a moment, and when he looked back up, Doom’s guards were taking Thor away, and Loki’s expression was rapidly darkening.

“Where are you taking him, Victor?” Loki asked, and it was Sin’s turn to laugh. “You promised me custody of him.”

“Until I returned, yes.”

“He’s my brother, Victor, I’m the one who gave you the means to subdue him—”

Doom glared at Loki, slamming his forearm and hand down on the arm of the throne, and Loki fell silent, mouth agape and eyes narrowed in angry defiance. “And it would do you good to remember that they are means that can just as easily be used on yourself!” he snarled, voice echoing in the metal mask.

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” Loki hissed. His eyes were dark, and Steve took a step backwards, putting a guard squarely between himself and Loki. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thor backing away as well, slowly, carefully, so as to not attract any attention.

That was the last thing Steve noticed before the room burst into flames.

It quite literally burst, because something exploded and seconds later Steve found himself on his back, a good ten feet from where he had been standing. He wasn’t burned, thankfully, but there were flames creeping out from the table and a few shots being fired. With his ears ringing, Steve looked around, seeing boots and fleeing men all around him. One of them grabbed him—a Hydra man, nonetheless—and Steve saw that his pistol was still in his belt. Using the last reserves of his strength, Steve pulled him down onto the floor and knocked him out with a few quick punches, freeing the gun once the man was down.

On his knees now, he looked around the room, surveying the chaos as the flames continued to spread out from the table. He swallowed, grimly, trying to pick out Thor’s figure through the smoke, but finding only scurrying guards and the silhouetted figure of Loki searching for Doom. His head whipped to the left as he heard the sounds of a scuffle, culminating in a yelp, and then solid footsteps coming towards him, and Steve’s face lit up briefly when Thor appeared, covered in soot and with a trail of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Your ankles,” Thor said, holding up a set of keys, with the fabric tab that had once held them to some guard’s uniform still attached. Steve shifted, sitting back and swinging his legs out, and Thor wasted no time, jamming keys in the tiny locks until he found the one that worked.

When Steve was free, he did the ones on his own ankles, and then, before Steve had time to question, protest, or even think, Thor hauled him to his feet and started running. Steve took a few hopping steps, surveying the residual chaos, but when a shot was fired at him, missing high and to the left, Steve took off after Thor.

Thor had darted toward the long hallway they had come through, and Steve followed him, too distracted to turn and look back. They had to find a way out, not watch two villains tear each other apart. But a vicious cry from the center of the room made Steve look back for a second, just in time to see Loki hurl something in his brother’s direction.

Steve wanted to yell, to at least alert his companion, but by the time he had drawn breath to do so, the small throwing knife had already buried itself in Thor’s left shoulder, punching clean through his hauberk. Thor inhaled sharply, tripped, and fell, thankfully onto his stomach, able to brace himself on his hands, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop. Steve rushed over to him, noting the ooze of blood now flowing from the wound.

“C’mon, Thor,” he said, holding his hands out. Thor gave him a pleading look, one that could either mean “Please help me,” or “Just leave me here.”

Steve wasn’t going to settle for the latter. He grabbed Thor’s hands and helped pull him up, ignoring the groan and the wince Thor gave as he staggered to his feet, and then they took off running again.

He could hear foosteps all around them, from both Loki and guards scrambling to get the fire and other situations under control. Thor snuck over to the side of the wall, his left shoulder slumping and his arm hanging limply by his side, waiting at the edge of the tunnel as several more guards poured in, running right past him and instead setting their sights on his angry brother, who was still throwing fire and daggers about. Steve expected another one to come flying at him, but Loki had his hands full with the guards now.

When the initial wave had passed, he nodded to Steve, and they kept running. Occasionally a guard or two would notice them as they stuck to the walls, but they jumped the first one and Steve used his stolen pistol to quickly incapacitate him with a blow to the head.

Neither of them had any kind of idea where the exit might be. There weren’t any windows to guide them, nor were there any kinds of signs or directories or maps, so they stumbled about until they came across a room full of crates that led to a cement garage, with a large steel door at one end of it.

Thor wasted no time undoing the latches at the bottom and pushing the door along its rails, with some help from Steve. When they were both outside, Thor shut it while Steve surveyed their surroundings. He stumbled a bit, taking in the full sight, his gaze first running over the thick pine forest that sloped downhill before them, then moving back towards the garage doors as Thor approached him. Steve could see that wherever they had been was largely underground, built into the side of a hill, like a bunker; that certainly explained the lack of windows.

He was still scoping out their options when Thor grabbed his hands and found the same key he had used to unlock the ankle cuffs with. Within seconds he had the ones from Steve’s wrists off and falling to the ground, landing on the dirt at their feet. Thor held out his own hands, palms down, with the keys gripped lightly in his left hand. Steve took them, finding the tiny key Thor had used, and unlocked his.

With the keys still in hand, they started to run again, proceeding cautiously down the hill, well aware that it could drop off into a cliff at any second. They both stumbled occasionally, tripping over a rock or stray root or just losing traction, but neither would be deterred, both imbued with the simple desire to just get away. 

—-

Steve ran until the adrenaline in his body faded, until the nausea and hunger wormed their way back into him, until his chest felt tight and his body weak once more. And then, he stopped, Thor coming to a halt about twenty feet in front of him, both of them panting. Steve doubled over—he knew it was the wrong thing to do in a situation like this, but his head was spinning, both from the hunger and the fatigue, and if he didn’t stop for a few minutes, he was going to collapse later.

Thor busied himself surveying in each direction. They had long since left the hill and been on flat terrain, but they still had no idea which way they ought to be heading. There weren’t any roads out here, or at least ones that they had found, and until they had a decent idea of where to go, they would just keep getting lost in the woods.

He looked so peculiar, Steve thought, with the knife still sticking out of his shoulder. His hauberk was stained with blood and grime, his arm still limp at his side, and Steve frowned at the sight of the wound.

“Thor,” he called, and Thor whipped his head to look at him, “let’s…let’s take that dagger out.”

There was fear in Thor’s eyes, for a brief second, and Steve swallowed. “I think it would be best,” he added.

Thor stared at the ground for a long time, weighing his options. Out here, he could bleed to death if Steve wasn’t careful. They didn’t know how long they’d be out here, and in the wilderness, without any kind of proper sanitation, that wound was very liable to get infected. When he had decided, Thor nodded and said, “I trust your judgment.”

Steve nodded. He looked down at his uniform, finding a tear near his right knee, and wasted no time in ripping a long strip down the calf, something to tuck under Thor’s hauberk and staunch the bleeding. “I…you should sit down.”

Thor complied, dropping himself as painlessly as he could to the ground. He held himself still for Steve, who had knelt behind him, surveying the wound before he decided to do anything with it. It had stopped bleeding for the time being, but Steve knew that as soon as he removed it, the wound would begin bleeding again. The blade also had a fair deal of thickness—it wasn’t thin and flat, but rather thickened toward the center of the dagger, and Steve was fairly certain it was curved.

“You ready?” Steve asked, and Thor gave a minute nod, staring down at his knees. “I’m going to go slow. If it hurts too much, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Understood.”

Shakily, Steve braced himself on Thor’s shoulder, his other hand wrapping around the knife and very carefully testing to see if the blade was caught on anything. He saw Thor grit his jaw, but there was no protest, so Steve began, carefully pulling on the blade until it began to slip free. Thor inhaled sharply as the blade started to move, but he voiced no protest, and a minute later, Steve had the dagger out of his shoulder.

He stuffed the torn rag over the wound, knowing that Thor’s tight-fitting hauberk would keep it there, but the scrap rapidly turned red and Steve worried. There was nothing more he could do, at least right now, and they both knew that the dagger had needed to come out. Steve wiped it off on his pants, deciding to take it with them—perhaps it could be useful later on.

“Can you keep going?” Steve asked quietly after a minute, rising to his feet. Thor nodded, looking up at Steve, who reached down to help him.

“Just not…so fast.” 

Steve nodded, accepting that Thor’s mortal form couldn’t be pushed as hard as they were used to going. They both wanted to keep moving, knowing that Doom would lock down the area surrounding the base pretty tightly in an effort to find them. The farther away they were, the better their chances.

Steve trudged after Thor, jogging a few paces to catch up with him. “Do you want to try and get that collar off? I still have the keys.”

“Later, when we’ve stopped.”

That was fair. They would have to stop eventually—when nightfall came, the forest would certainly be too dark to move around. At that point, they would simply have to hide somewhere until the next morning and pray that no one caught up with them until then. Getting the collar off might mean that Thor could help them get out of there, but Steve thought it unlikely the keep for that was on the ring, and wasting time now trying to find out would be more dangerous. Best to get as far away as they could first.

Throughout the afternoon, Steve marched after Thor, who picked an arbitrary direction and followed it, diverting his path only when some kind of obstacle too severe to overcome blocked his way. He stuck to following a cliff face, although Steve reasoned that calling it a cliff was a bit of an overstatement. It was only about twenty feet high, maybe forty at its peak, and mostly smooth, leading Steve to the conclusion that it had once been the bank of a river.

They were forced to seek shelter earlier than they had wanted to, however, as the sky clouded over and thick, fat raindrops began to fall. Thor carried on until it turned into a downpour; although the drizzle was tolerable, the cloudburst wasn’t. Steve stumbled after Thor, trying not to fall down on the slick ground, until Thor found an inlet carved in the rock, one big enough to shelter them for a few hours.

Thor was busy wringing out his hair, using only his right hand, while Steve dragged himself over and curled up, his clothes and hair soaked. The terrain was too soggy to traverse right now, but any tracks they had left would certainly be washed away, at least complicating the search for them. When his hair was as dry as it was going to get, Thor limped over to him, collapsing a few feet away from Steve.

“How are you holding up?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Thor answered. “Yourself?”

“I’ve been better.” The hunger was getting to him again; he had finally burned off the last of his adrenaline, and he was sure the wooziness and dizziness would shortly be back.

“Let’s see if we can get that thing off,” Steve said, reaching for the keys. He selected one at random, sliding the rest around the ring, and Thor tilted his head as Steve reached for the padlock. Biting his lip, he examined the lock for a moment, deciding which way to line the key up, and then tried to slip it in. The key was too fat, far too fat, and Steve frowned. “Not this one.”

He cycled to the next key, and this one slid into the lock, a glimmer of hope sparking through Steve. He heard Thor gasp in mild surprise, but as Steve tried to twist the key, nothing happened. Thor’s brow furrowed for a second, and Steve pulled the key out. “Not this one, either.”

He continued through all the keys, some too thick to fit into the lock, others sliding in and giving them both that tease of possibility, but none of them were a match. Steve’s hands were nearly shaking by the time he finished, and when the last key refused to turn the lock, he threw them angrily to the ground. Thor blinked in surprise.

“None of them worked,” Steve said, and Thor sighed.

“I assumed so.”

Steve raked a hand through his hair. “We can try and bash it open with a rock.”

Thor shrugged. “If you think so.”

Steve mulled it over for a moment. He’d seen men bash padlocks open with a few deft blows from a rock, either breaking the tumblers or prying them open by force; Steve knew it certainly could be done. But the problem lay in the proximity of the lock to Thor’s neck—above all, Steve didn’t want to accidentally harm him. If he were careful, worked slow, it would probably be best.

“Wait here for a minute.”

Before Thor gave him any kind of acknowledgement, Steve hopped up and darted outside. The rain had mostly let up, and he was able to find two good rocks fairly quickly, even in the waning light. One was a bit thinner, the other round and fat, and both the size of his fists; Steve thought he could work with them. He snuck back inside, Thor rubbing anxiously at the collar on his neck and eyeing Steve warily as he knelt beside him.

“Don’t flinch,” Steve warned. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“What do you intend to do?”

Steve held up the narrower rock. “I’m going to put this through the lock, and see if I can hit it with the other one a few times and force the lock open.”

Thor seemed too tired to protest, so Steve carefully wedged the narrower rock into the arc of the padlock. “Don’t flinch,” he said again, and then brought the fat rock down on the lock, the resulting clank loud and startling. Thor, to his credit, didn’t flinch, but Steve wondered if that might have been out of sheer exhaustion. 

Regardless, Steve kept trying, striking the rocks over and over, until the lock looked chewed and scarred. The damn thing refused to open, however, and Steve set his rock down, sighing in frustration. “We’ll try again later,” he said, when Thor looked over, concern in his eyes.

They sat in silence for a long while, watching the rain come down in sheets outside the overhang of their inlet. The temperature had dropped significantly, and Steve could feel a chill settling over his skin, along with the sinking realization that it would only get colder as night approached.

Beside him, Thor shivered, and Steve looked over.

“Are you okay?”

“I…I am fine.”

“You’ve got to be freezing,” Steve said. “You don’t even have sleeves.”

“I assure you, I am fine.”

Steve patted the ground next to him. “Just come sit over here. I’m cold, too.”

Thor eyed the dirt. Steve knew what he was afraid of, because Steve was afraid of it, too. He was afraid to have Thor next to him, to find him warm and comforting and attractive like he had before, and that they would act on that attraction. But he was cold and Thor was near freezing, not to mention still beat up from before, and Steve was willing to risk it for the time being, if Thor was as well.

After some deliberation, Thor stood up and crossed the space between them, sitting about a foot away   
from Steve at first. It took him a few seconds to muster up the courage to move closer, so that his bare arm touched Steve’s sleeve. They sat in awkward, tenuous silence for a few minutes, until Steve hesitantly moved his arm, met by a skeptical glance from Thor as he laid it over his teammate’s shoulders.

Suddenly Thor was closer, and Steve could feel the weak warmth he radiated, could feel the tiny tremors of his shivering, could feel the steady rise and fall of his shoulders from his breathing, and above all, he could feel the absolute tension in every fiber of Thor’s body. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but Thor looked cold and pathetic, and after what he’d done—what he’d been willing to do—for Steve’s sake, he figured this was the least he could do.

Thor took a while to calm down, but he did eventually, relaxing under Steve’s arm as his body began to warm up. Finally he sighed and slumped against Steve, his left arm cradled limply in his lap, and laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. It was almost too intimate, too close, for Steve to handle, but when he glanced down and saw the tiredness on Thor’s face, he realized that Thor was simply worn out, tired and cold and in pain.

Steve wondered how much longer they would be out here. Were the others still looking for them at this point? They hadn’t come yet, but that wasn’t to say that they weren’t still looking.

Tony wouldn’t abandon him. Sure, Tony was self-absorbed and reckless at times…but most of his thrill-seeking put him in danger for the sake of others. Tony wouldn’t hole himself up in the tower now, wouldn’t turn his back on Steve.

He’d find them. He would.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had nothing to do but wait. 

After a time, the rain let up completely, and night settled in, a thick, cold blanket covering the forest. Thor had started to fall asleep, and rather than collapse on his teammate, he had detached himself from Steve and curled up a few feet away, a gesture Steve was inwardly grateful for. Thor had resumed shivering the moment he fell asleep, though, and Steve had felt bad watching him, resolving to wake him in a few hours and let Thor curl up on him again.

He was just beginning to doze himself, determined not to fall asleep and leave them unguarded, when something flashed in the sky. Steve jerked awake, eyes scanning the darkness for whatever it was, and he saw a set of lights moving in the distance, undoubtedly coming toward them, and doing so at an alarming speed.

“Thor,” he hissed, nudging Thor, being wary of his bad shoulder. It would be cruel to wake him by prodding his wound. “Thor, get up.”

When Steve touched his bare arm with his cold hands, Thor jerked awake, eyes wide and body tensed. “Is something wrong?”

Steve pointed skyward. “I think something’s coming.”

“Doom?”

“That’s my best guess for now.”

Thor pushed himself to his feet. “Should we keep moving?”

Steve shook his head. “I think they’d spot us running. I...I’d say we hide here, until something comes in from the ground. We’re sheltered from above.”

Thor nodded, collapsing back down and sitting with his legs crossed, hands rubbing his upper arms to try and warm them up, wincing each time his shoulder moved. Steve turned his attentions from Thor, focusing back on the lights, praying they’d just pass over, just leave them be until morning hit and they could see again. It would be incredibly dangerous to try and run at night, in a forest they didn’t know, and it was something Steve wanted to avoid if at all possible.

But the lights were getting brighter, and larger, and Steve began to think of possible escape plans, thought really the only option that came to mind was “run.”. He cast a glance at the other man, finding Thor watching the sky with rapt attention as well, mouth slightly agape in concentration.

“Captain Rogers,” Thor began, and Steve wished that he would just call him Steve after all this, “do they not remind you a bit of Stark’s suit?”

Steve turned back to the sky, frowning as he studied the lights. He counted five of them—one at the head, with one slightly below it and two at the sides, punctuated by one large light leaving a small trail. To Steve, that could either be Tony, or some kind of aircraft, at this point. “I...maybe?”

Wouldn’t that be nice, Steve thought. If that were Tony and not some passenger jet or military helicopter flying overhead. How fucking fantastical would it be if Tony just dropped out of the sky—

Steve leaned forward as the lights changed their trajectory midair, curving in a wide arc as they began to descend, and then Steve looked over at Thor, flabbergasted. Thor seemed equally so, shock written on his face when Steve looked over.

“Perhaps it is Stark?”

Steve hunted around for the pistol he’d taken from the guard, kicking the soiled dagger toward Thor. “Just in case,” he warned, watching as Thor picked it up, turning it over in his hand.

Knees aching with stiffness, Steve shifted to crouch, one hand bracing him on the ground, eyes still locked on the sky. He could hear the familiar whine of Tony’s suit, the lights moving down faster, leaving a more notable vapor trail, but that couldn’t be Tony, could it? Could the others have finally found them, after all this time?

And then Steve squinted, and could make out red and gold as the lights swooped down one final time, the pistol falling from Steve’s hands just as effortlessly as Tony descended down into the small clearing before them, sending leaves and dirt flying for a moment while Steve and Thor looked on in disbelief.

But no, there was Tony, his arc reactor casting a blue glow on everything around him. Steve pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to help up Thor as Tony looked around, his mask still on. Without warning, it flipped back, and suddenly Tony was staring at him.

“Steve? That you?”

“Tony?” he managed, the name sounding ludicrous on his lips. He had to be hallucinating.

“Jesus Christ, it really is you two,” Tony mused, scanning them up and down quickly before turning his head slightly to the side. “Guys, I’ve got ‘em, and they’re in one piece.”

“You came,” Steve murmured, and he felt the realization should have hit him harder, but he was simply too tired, too ready to just go home and have a hot shower and eat everything in the mansion to care now. Tony was here—they were safe, it was over.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony said, and there was relief on his face. “Thor,” he added, nodding in Thor’s general direction. Steve could see the circles under Tony’s eyes, could see how tired and worn out he looked, and it instantly quashed any kind of doubt he’d had about him. Of course he hadn’t stopped looking for them—he’d clearly been up every night since the start trying to find them.

“Here,” Tony continued, and one of the compartments on his leg opened, and he reached inside, pulling out something small and rectangular and tossing it to Steve as the crackle of cellophane filled the air. Steve caught it, turning it over in his hands and reading “PowerBar” on the label. It was even his favorite flavor—chocolate peanut butter. “I’ve got about eight more. Figured you’d be starving.” 

Tony looked them over as Steve tore his PowerBar open, sinking his teeth in it viciously and tearing off a chunk. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony frown at their state, wincing slightly when he looked over Thor, standing there with his arm hanging limply at his side and crusted blood painted on it. He reached into the same compartment, pulling out another energy bar, unwrapping this one before stepping over and handing it to Thor.

“I’d ask what happened, but I think that can wait.” He pointed between the two of them. “Eat up. Our ride will be here in about...” he paused, listening, “...two minutes, guys. We’re going home.” He fished out a third, trying to hand it to Thor, who shook his head.

“Give the rest to Captain Rogers.”

“I don’t think one PowerBar is going to make or break him, big guy.”

“No,” Thor insisted, and dropped his voice, clearly not intending for his words to make it past Tony’s ears. “The captain is starving. Give the rest to him, Stark.”

Tony cocked a brow. “Ooookay. You got it.”

Steve had already finished devouring the first bar, and he nearly snatched the second one away from Tony when it was presented to him. He was still tearing into it when the familiar sound of helicopter blades thundered overhead, and before Steve knew it, he was looking up at the smiling face of Phil Coulson as he helped Steve climb into the Quinjet.

They really were going home, Steve realized as he buckled himself in and Tony handed him another PowerBar.

—-

It was good to be back.

Fury mandated a hospital stay and evaluation for both of them, and Steve made sure the first thing they did was cut that damned collar off Thor’s neck. There had been some protest from a few engineers, who claimed that they wanted to study the collar’s active effects, but Fury quickly shot them down and the collar came off.

Tests were done, blood was drawn, and Steve was fed and showered and tucked into a bed with an IV in his arm. Tony had come by when the doctors allowed him to, and for a while they simply shot the breeze, since neither wanted to talk about what had happened. Technically, they weren’t allowed to, not until Fury debriefed them, but there had been no mention of when that would happen.

But eventually, it was bound to come up.

“You okay with what happened?” Tony asked. “We don’t know any details, aside from the fact that that base was obliterated, and Thor hasn’t said anything on it.”

“I’m as good with it as I can be,” Steve replied. “I...the conditions weren’t bad, aside from the lack of food and water.”

“Thor okay?”

“He took a worse beating than I did, and you know how he gets when Loki’s involved, but I think he’ll be okay. Has he said anything?”

“No, just the usual ‘verily’s.”

Steve nodded, and they were both silent for a moment, Steve staring at his blankets while Tony picked at a callus on his thumb. “You know, it sounds awful to say, but I almost thought you guys wouldn’t come for us. I thought you weren’t going to get there in time. I didn’t believe it was you when you showed up.”

Tony smiled sadly. “I didn’t think we’d find you in time, either. It’s Doom, and we were fairly certain Loki was involved, so that was two strikes against you, right there. And we had no way of tracking you, because Thor didn’t have Mjölnir and your shield was still here.” Tony rubbed his palm with his thumb. “I thought you were a goner for a while, too.”

Steve swallowed thickly. While disheartening, it was a relief to know that Tony felt the same way, to know that he wasn’t the only one who had felt hopeless. It still hurt, though, to know that Tony himself had believed Steve to be dead. 

“But you’ll be relieved to know that Fury’s going to chip us as a result,” Tony said, looking up, a lopsided grin on his face. “Little GPS tracking chips. So that this doesn’t happen again.”

“Good to know.” They sat in silence for a few seconds. “How did you find us, then? Since the other stuff was....”

Tony sighed. “A lot of watching the air move over Latveria, first off. There really wasn’t much else we could do. And then some guy in a department Fury’d never even heard of—who dresses like a magician, no less—comes out of the woodwork and says he can help us find you, that Loki’d been messing around and he because of that knew where you two were. Even though the guy came out and gave us an exact location, we got held up by the damned red tape, but Fury came down on the bureaucrats pretty hard and then we ended up flying out. Before I knew it I was tossing you two PowerBars in some godforsaken Latverian forest.”

Steve laughed. Tony’s story sounded ridiculous, but given what their lives were like, it was impossible to tell where the embellishments may have been, if there even were any. He’d find out when Fury debriefed them, when they got the whole story, and then maybe Steve would get a chance to thank this “magician” man.

It was good to have company, food—as much as he could eat—and a warm bed again. Tony had told him that Thor was fine, that he’d been patched up and was doing better since the collar had come off and been turned over to the R&D department. Steve was grateful to hear it, resolving to check on Thor tomorrow, provided his doctors let him out and about, of course, but Steve was fairly certain they would. 

Tony was eventually chased out by a stern nurse, promising to come back tomorrow with something for Steve to read, and Steve had just smiled and turned over to get some sleep. His rest was deep and dreamless, the kind of sleep he always had when he was too exhausted and worn out, and when Steve woke again he wondered what time—what day—it was.

Checking the clock, he saw that he’d been out for a solid ten hours, and he given how he felt, figured he could use a few more after some breakfast. But first, he wanted eggs and bacon and whatever else they could bring him, and as much as they could. When he finished, he rolled over to get a few more hours of shuteye, until he was woken up for a few final tests and told he’d be kept there through the night and released in the morning.

Tony did come by in the early afternoon, with a few copies of TIME, claiming that it was either those or the leftover issues of Popular Mechanics he had strewn about his workshop, but Steve was just grateful to have something to occupy his mind. Thor had also paid him a visit, albeit a short one, and Steve could see that he was in much better spirits, the blood washed off and the wounds on his face now scabbed over and well on their way to healing. He was dragged off by a nurse determined to return him to his bed, but Steve had seen the relief on Thor’s face when he realized that Steve was recovering. 

It was a relief that he had strangely shared. Seeing Thor had lifted Steve’s spirits a bit, and witnessing him smile had made Steve’s chest tighten in the same way it did when a pretty girl grinned at him, but Steve quickly squashed that sentiment. Thor wasn’t a pretty girl. He was a big, sturdy man, the farthest thing from Peggy or any of the other girls he’d been around. 

The afternoon passed quickly, Steve either napping, lazing through his issues of TIME, or engaging in brief visits with Clint, Natasha or Bruce, all of whom had stopped to check in on him. Phil came by in the evening, after Steve had eaten dinner, and told him he’d be debriefed the next day at 1, provided he was feeling up to it. Steve had assured him that he could sit through an hour-long meeting by one o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and Phil had smiled and bid him goodbye.

Steve slept well again that night, waking well before the doctors came by to perform a few final, perfunctory tests and sign off on his release forms and Tony came down with a set of clothes for Steve. Steve thanked him and told him he’d meet up with him later, and Tony didn’t seem put out at all. He’d come up covered in axle grease and oil, and Steve knew he just wanted to get back to whatever he had been working on in the workshop.

He dressed himself in the jeans and button-up shirt that Tony had brought for him, slipping on his sneakers barefoot (Tony had, of course, forgotten the socks) before stepping out in the hall. One of the nurses was kind enough to tell him which room was Thor’s, and point Steve in the right direction.

Thor was sitting on the bed, still wearing the sea foam green scrubs he’d been given, his arms folded over his chest, and to Steve, he looked more than a little sulky, but he lit up when Steve appeared in the doorway. “When are they letting you out?”

“Soon, I believe,” Thor said. 

“That’s good.” Steve glanced around the room, wondering why Thor would still be in scrubs if he were about to be discharged. “Didn’t anyone bring you anything to change into?”

Thor nodded. “I asked Barton, and he said he would be by shortly.”

“Oh, good.” Steve fidgeted. “Coulson probably already told you, but we’ve got a debriefing at 1, at HQ,” Steve said, putting his arms behind his back and staring at his feet as Thor settled himself on the bed. “Fury’ll be there. You know the drill.”

Casually, Thor ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from where it fell into his face, and Steve couldn’t help but watch his arm flex, watch the shirt wrinkle and pull up a bit, revealing his hipbone and his abdominals, and for half a second Steve recalled all of the times he’d seen Thor without his shirt. 

Steve looked at the floor again, turning to go, but he stopped as Thor spoke. 

“Steve,” he asked, and Steve craned his head over his shoulder to look at Thor. “When we are debriefed, I…I would humbly ask that you make no mention of what my brother—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about that,” Steve said. “We have to say that Loki was there, in charge, but I really don’t think the committee needs to know about the rest of that stuff.”

“Thank you.”

Steve shrugged and gave a half-smile. “No problem.”

—-

Two hours later, Steve was finally let go from his debriefing. He was the first one called in, and Thor was next, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest before walking in. He seemed collected, moreso than Steve had been, but Steve had had...other things on his mind. After Thor would be Tony, and then Coulson, and then hopefully the files would be closed on this incident for good.

Regardless, it had been relatively painless, just simply tedious, and Steve had always hated how these men could ask the same question fifty different ways before they were completely satisfied with his answer. They drilled him on everything and anything Doom or Loki had done, and Steve had almost slipped up and mentioned Thor’s bout of humiliation, catching himself at the last moment. When he came down to Thor’s conduct, Steve had been curt, not wanting to discuss how he felt about the man, because all that came to mind when Steve thought about it was the way Thor’s skin had felt against his own, how warm and gentle he’d been when they kissed. 

He’d lingered, deciding to keep Tony company until it was his turn. Tony’s debriefing should go significantly faster than Steve’s or Thor’s, so it wouldn’t be a big deal to wait for him to finish. They sat and chatted, until the door opened, Thor stepping out and holding the door open politely for Tony. He turned over his shoulder to watch the door close, and then Steve realized it was just them in the waiting room.

“How was it, Captain Rogers?”

Steve shrugged. “It went fine.”

Thor gave a hesitant nod. “I...I made no mention of what...occured...between us. If you feel that—”

“I didn’t, either, Thor. It shouldn’t affect anything.” He paused, taking in Thor’s unsure expression, trying not to dwell on the kiss himself. “Right?”

Thor couldn’t meet Steve’s stare, instead glancing down at the floor. “Right.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around, then,” Steve murmured. “Or did you need something else?”

“No, nothing.” Thor folded his arms behind his back. “Enjoy your afternoon, Captain Rogers.”

“You, too.”

Steve tucked his hands in his pockets, striding down the hallway to the elevator. He knew Tony was back in his garage; he’d been complaining about something on the Lamborghini when Steve had talked to him briefly earlier that day.

It was a short walk back to the tower, and then another elevator ride before Steve was descending the stairs down into Tony’s workshop, hands skimming over the concrete walls as he jogged down the steps. Glancing around the room, he saw that Tony’s familiar clutter was everywhere, covering all of his workbenches and desks. Tony himself was, of course, lying half-under the car on a creeper, muttering to himself. 

“Steve, that you?” he called as Steve stopped, midway into the room.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Steve folded his arms over his chest and waited for Tony. The sounds of metal scraping on metal followed for a few moments, and then Tony eased himself out from under the car, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair and smearing axle grease across his temple. 

“How’d your debriefing go?”

“As well as it could have.” Steve shrugged. “Fury’ll have his hands full for the next few days, anyway. Yours?”

“Went fine,” Tony said, approaching Steve and gently pushing him aside to get at a box of different ratchet heads. “The guy’s name was Strange. The one who told us where you were.”

Steve laughed. “Well, you said he was dressed like—”

Tony shook his head. “No, I mean his name was Strange. Stephen Strange.” His hand pawed over the metal bits, scowling before he selected one. “Technically, I’m not supposed to talk about him, let alone know he exists. The committee was pretty clear on that one.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Some protocol. I just figured you might want to know his name,” Tony replied, popping on the new ratchet head. “Guy seemed like a crackpot when I first met him, but he did help us find you.”

Steve nodded. He, like Tony, had had a very hard time accepting things like “magic” and people like Thor into their lives. It didn’t seem to add up to Steve, these unexplainable, arcane forces, things like Loki or some of the dark arts that Doom wielded, yet there they were, right in front of Steve on some days. Steve had done battle with more mythical creatures and beings than he could count, yet he could never quite bring himself to fully accept the concept.

“Maybe I can ask Fury about it. Give me a chance to thank the guy.”

Tony shrugged, staring past Steve to frown at the Lamborghini. He stepped past him, walking around to where he had left the creeper, glancing between the ratchet in his hand and the car’s door.

Steve leaned back against the workbench, folding his arms over his chest. “Speaking of which,” he said, slowly, unsure of how to phrase the next bit, “I was wondering if you’d have any kind of idea as to something I could do for Thor.”

Tony, now crouched by the creeper, shot Steve a curious, skeptical glance. “Thor? Why?”

“He covered for me, when we were there. Went out of his way when he didn’t have to.” Steve shrugged as Tony laid back down on the creeper. “I figure I should do something nice for him.” He mentioned nothing of the lingering guilt that he felt, partially blaming himself for Thor’s humiliation, even though he knew it truly wasn’t his fault.

“What kind of an idea did you have in mind? It sounds kinda weird when you leave it open like that, you know.” He shook the ratchet at Steve and then pushed himself back under the car.

He hopped on one of the stools Tony had around the workshop, watching Tony’s knees bob as he worked under the Lamborghini. “I dunno, just take him out for drinks or something?” A pause. “Does he even have any kind of hobbies?” 

“No idea. Why don’t you, you know, ask him?” Tony sighed in frustration, but Steve knew it wasn’t directed at him, but rather the Lambo. “I know you’re not his biggest fan, Cap, but I think you could get around it to ask him one question.”

Steve grumbled.

“Why don’t you talk to Clint?” Tony suggested, and Steve heard the ratchet working. “He and Thor are close.”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks.”

“No problem. Kick those ratchet heads under here before you go, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

—-

Thor had hoped things would change.

When they had arrived back on base, when he was alone, recovering in bed before they’d allowed the two of them to return to Stark Tower, he had entertained the notion that Steve would continue to befriend him. But when they’d been allowed to go back to the tower, back to their lives, it was clear that Steve, too, had gone back to his old ways.

The disappointment had been bitter. Thor had risked himself for Steve, and there was a lingering, sour thought that perhaps Steve would not have done the same for him. A small part of his mind tried to dismiss the thought, and the rational part of Thor knew that Steve would risk himself for any member of the team, but Thor’s anger was fresh and hard to restrain at times.

He tried not to dwell on it. After all, his time on Midgard would be limited, would be immaterial in the long run. Once Loki was subdued, once he could be certain that Loki would never harm this realm or its inhabitants again, Thor could go home, could return to Asgard, return to his friends and family and culture. All he could—and should—do now was enjoy whatever time he had left here.

There were things he very much enjoyed about Midgard, about his life here. He liked to sneak out of the tower when he could, to wander amidst the lights and the buildings and the people, and had even arranged it with JARVIS so that his comings and goings wouldn’t be reported. Central Park was a favorite destination of his; none of the passers-by ever paid him enough attention to recognize him, if he dressed appropriately. Tying his hair back and donning a hooded sweatshirt typically did the trick.

And he had friends here. Clint still enjoyed spending time with him, and Natasha sometimes joined the two of them, although she’d spent time with Thor alone since she had ended their relationship. That had been another disappointment, but one that Thor had quickly gotten over, just as he suspected he would this one. Thor got along well with Ms. Potts, and with agents Coulson and Hill; all three of them sometimes took him along on outings outside the tower.

There was no sense in dwelling on it, and so Thor busied himself with other activities. He went down to the park and took photos, used the gym when the desire struck him, and spent time with Clint. When Steve wasn’t around, it was easier to swallow his disappointment, to simply put it out of his mind.

Clint shifted on the couch beside him, waiting for his character to respawn. At the far end of the sofa, Natasha laughed, and Clint scowled--he’d been killed in-game by her moments ago. When it was just Clint keeping him company, they sometimes played cooperatively online (with the voice chat off, of course), but with the three of them, they’d settled on a free-for-all, one that Clint was not doing too well in.

At first, Thor had written off these Midgardian entertainments, written off television and cell phones and video games. He’d found all of Midgard’s culture too impersonal, too disconnected, until he simply realized that that was their culture. Since then, he’d become accustomed to such things, even enjoyed some of them, such as when he discovered his cell phone also took pictures, but at times he longed for the great feasts he had grown up with, the quiet intimacy of always being surrounded by close friends.

Natasha beat the two of them handily that round. “Your boys’ club could use a little practice, Barton,” she teased, as Clint grumbled and started to set up another match.

“We do better online,” he said sullenly.

“Sure you do.”

Clint hadn’t risen to the bait that time, instead focused on setting up the match options until a synthesized melody cut through the air. Startled, Clint nearly dropped his controller as he fished in his pocket, pulling his phone out and swiping a thumb across the screen. “Shit, guys,” he said, glancing from Natasha to Thor, “I should take this.”

“How long will you be?” Natasha asked, idly running one of her joysticks in circles.

“Like five minutes. You guys can play a quick match if you want.”

Thor looked to Natasha, who shrugged. “We can wait,” he offered.

Clint nodded, tapping his phone to answer it. “Hello? Hi, yeah, it’s me.” He rose from the couch, crossing the room and heading for the door. “No, hold on just a second; I’ve got it here somewhere.”

Natasha leaned backwards, tossing her controller haphazardly to the side and tilting her head back. She closed her eyes and briefly ran her hand over them, sighing, while Thor set his controller down on the floor and sat forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Hey,” she said, shifting on the couch to look at him. “You been doing okay since you got back?”

Thor nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“You sure?” Natasha tilted her head forward, one elbow propped up on the back of the couch. Thor eyed her warily. Of his teammates, Clint and Natasha were easily the most perceptive; their training was heavily dependent on their ability to “read” others, and it came as no surprise that she had been able to pick up on Thor’s lingering melancholy.

He sighed. “During our captivity, I thought perhaps Captain Rogers’ attitudes toward me may have changed. And now that we are back here, I am simply disappointed that they appear to have not.”

“You thought Steve would finally be your bud.”

“Yes,” he admitted thoughtfully, “I did. But it appears that wasn’t so.”

Natasha nodded slowly. Thor knew she had no problems with Steve. Despite her confessions to him--to all of them--of some of the things she had done, things she sought to atone for, Steve had still accepted her, still trusted her, and Thor suspected a large part of that was Natasha’s earnest attitude toward her redemption. “I wouldn’t...Don’t worry about Steve,” she said. “He likes you.”

Thor raised an eyebrow. Natasha tilted her head back and forth, clearly searching for another word.

“I know the Captain respects me, but I am not sure how...amiable he is to me.”

“Maybe like isn’t the best word. But you’re right, he respects you. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be on this team. It’s as simple as that.” She laughed. “You remember all the times he wanted to fire Stark for insubordination, don’t you? And they turned out to be friends.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Thor said, with a half-hearted snort of amusement.

She leaned her head on the back of the couch. “I know it sounds stupid for me to tell you this, since it’s been, what, two years? But maybe you do just need to give it a little time. I mean, you were gone for a while after Manhattan; some bonds were formed then. Maybe this was his watershed moment, you know?”

“Perhaps,” Thor said. He didn’t really feel up to speaking more on the subject, and was grateful when Clint reappeared in the doorway.

“Back,” he said, tucking his phone back into his pants pocket. “And ready to kick your ass, Natasha.”

She gave Thor one last sympathetic look before grinning and reaching for her controller.

\---

Steve caught up with Clint two days later.

He busied himself with catching up on more than a week’s worth of inactivity, Coulson filling him in on everything that had happened during his absence. There was paperwork to go over, forms to be signed, meetings to be had, and Steve was grateful each night when he could collapse into his bed or hit the gym for a few hours.

A few times he had tried to peek in on Thor to see if he was up to anything that might give Steve a hint as to a hobby or interest, but Thor never seemed to do anything interesting. In fact, outside of seeing him clocking in some time on a treadmill and the weight room, Steve had no idea what he really did. The memory of his bare, impersonal rooms would come back at moments like those, and Steve would frown, perplexed by his teammate.

Eventually he decided to take Tony’s advice and see if Clint had anything to offer. He and Thor were close; he had sometimes seen them joking together during meetings or occasionally playing Xbox in the common room, and it seemed that if anyone knew what Thor was into, it would be Clint.

He knew Clint and Natasha frequently went out with the others for drinks on the weekends, and he reasoned that Clint would probably know where Thor liked to go. Taking Thor out for a couple beers seemed like a good idea—it was something platonic guy friends did with one another, and there weren’t any sexual implications behind the gesture. There really wasn’t any way that Thor could misconstrue it.

His opportunity came on Thursday afternoon, just as Steve was heading into the gym, shoving his things in his locker when a half-dressed Clint came strolling casually in the room. He was freshly showered, his hair still wet and flopping over his forehead, and he fluffed it up with his hand, distracted in his own activities as Steve looked over.

“Hey Clint,” Steve said, and Clint looked over from his locker.

“Yeah?”

“Where do you guys go when you all go out? You and Natasha and Thor.”

Clint tilted his head. “There’re a few bars we like, and sometimes Natasha drags us to Fever, that club.” He pulled his new shirt on over his head, ruffling his hair when he was done. “Why? Want to come with us?”

“I…not exactly. I’m looking for someplace to take Thor, actually. I was planning on taking him out for drinks after what he did for me; just wondered if there was any place he liked.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “What, like a man-date?”

Steve grinned a bit. Clint rubbed at his temple. “He liked Barney’s, until he got really drunk that one night and ended up in a tussle. Now I think he’s a fan of that sports bar on 39th. Just don’t take him to Fever; crowded dance floors and loud techno aren’t his thing, and he always attracts the gays.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, mentally noting to look up the name of that sports bar.

“No problem,” Clint said, shuffling something inside his locker. “I always thought he was a bit too boisterous for you, Cap, but glad you’ve warmed up to him.”

“True.” Steve shoved his hands in the pockets of his athletic shorts. “He doesn’t seem like he’s that bad now.”

“He’s a pretty fun guy. I hang out with him pretty regularly. Natasha did, too, but I don’t think they spend so much time together now. Although I know Potts takes him out from time to time--”

“Does Tony know?”

“Probably.” Clint eyed Steve. “Pepper would never cheat on him, if that’s what you’re worried about, and Thor is the last person she’d do it with. No, she just takes him around New York from time to time. Central Park, Long Island, touristy things.”

“Oh.” Steve nodded. That made sense. Pepper and Tony had taken him around after Manhattan, showed him how things had changed, but most of what existed had been there back in his day, too. To Thor, New York was completely foreign, completely new; it was good that he was being shown around. 

“Thanks,” he said, and Clint nodded. “I’ll figure something out.”

With a half-resolution in mind, Steve threw some weight on the chest press and set to work.

—-

Steve flipped open the lid of the pizza box, the smell hitting him almost instantly, and he inhaled deeply. Tony looked over from where he was crouched next to the front axle of Steve’s bike. He gave up poking at it, rising and walking back over to collapse next to Steve on the workshop floor, Steve sliding the box between them, putting Tony’s half closest to him.

Tony wasted no time, pulling a slice free and scowling when it remained stuck to the others by long strings of cheese, but it only took a few more seconds of struggling until he was sinking his teeth into it. Steve tried to be a bit more careful with his.

“So what kind of a noise was it making?” Tony asked, reaching into the bucket of ice and fishing out a bottle of Coke. Holding his slice in one hand, he managed to pry the metal cap off the glass bottle with the other, using the edge of the workbench to help him. They had used to drink beer, until Steve had seen how Tony could drink, had seen the benders he sometimes went on. They frightened him, and between he and Pepper, they’d managed to curtail most of Tony’s drinking. So now, on Friday nights, instead of beer, they had soda—though Tony insisted on the good stuff, and it had only taken Tony sitting down with him for a taste test to convince Steve that the good stuff was indeed imported from Mexico.

“A clanking noise. From the front,” he answered.

“‘A clanking noise,’” Tony repeated sardonically. “That’s helpful.”

Steve finished his next bite before replying. “It would cycle, every three or four seconds. You know.” He paused for a second, taking another bite, gesturing with his hand as he chewed to make his point.

Tony washed down his bite with a mouthful of soda. “Okay. I’ll poke around at it.” He busied himself with finishing off his slice, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, both chewing with nothing on their minds. It was nice to just sit with Tony, watch him work, occasionally help hold something or hand him a tool, and engage in conversation. These Friday nights had evolved from that; Steve would show up with food and they would just sit and talk and putter around, and the routine had become something they both looked forward to each week.

After Tony finished most of his half, he set back to work on the bike, wiping his hands carelessly on his jeans, Steve sitting nearby to offer help. With JARVIS’s omniscient assistance, Tony fixed the “clank” in the front axle, before reclining to finish his last few slices and down another bottle of Coke. After checking the time on his watch and finding it well after midnight, Steve cut him off, despite Tony’s protests—knowing from experience that too much sugar and caffeine would have Tony up all night—and hustled him upstairs. Pepper met them at the top of the stairs, having been summoned by JARVIS, and thanked Steve with a fond smile.

“Night, Steve,” Tony mumbled as he closed the door, already distracted as Pepper slipped an arm around his waist and they headed toward the elevator. Steve headed for the stairs, deciding against waiting for the elevator. The light was dim since everyone was in bed, and his footsteps sounded loud in the empty space. He was about to start up the stairs when crack of light in the hall from the kitchen caught his eye.

Frowning, Steve wandered closer, catching the sounds of the fridge being open and shut. Who was still up? Natasha and Clint had taken Thor and gone out, and Steve didn’t think Bruce had ever stayed up past 9:30, even on the weekends. He moved closer to the doorway, curious, making his footsteps loud enough to alert whoever was there that someone was coming, not wanting to accidentally surprise one of his teammates.

He shuffled over to the doorway, peeking inside, and there was Thor, a glass of water in his hand. “Captain Rogers,” he said, grinning and giving a quick nod before he raised the glass to his lips and Steve caught sight of his flush.

“You guys just get back?”

Thor nodded, and finished his sip. He turned, leaning back against the counter, and Steve took in the full sight of him. Gray T-shirt, black jeans, Doc Martens--it was a far cry from his typical almost costume-like garb, but Steve found that he liked the look, perhaps a bit too much for his comfort. 

“Where’d you guys go?”

“To dinner, with Dr. Banner, and then Clint, Natasha and I went to have drinks.” He swirled the liquid in the glass around. “Yourself?”

“Just kept Tony company in the workshop.” Steve shrugged. “Typical Friday.”

Thor nodded, and Steve watched his flush deepen. 

“Did you have fun?” he asked, and Thor smiled awkwardly. “Going out with them.”

“I did,” he said, nodding to reinforce his point. “I enjoy their company very much. And the customs and things here are...” he paused, glancing at his shoes for a moment, “different. I like to experience these things that I am unfamiliar with.”

Steve nodded. Once he had gotten over the fear, the anxiety, of waking up seventy years after he had fallen asleep, he had been like that, too. Everything had been new and shiny, and Steve had wanted to try it all. He’d thrown himself into catching up on seventy years of missed time, using it as a distraction to cope with the loss of his friends and family.

“You should come with us,” Thor said, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “I...I think you would enjoy it.” After a moment, he added, “And Stark, too.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll try and tag along some time.”

Steve looked away, turning from the doorway, and flipping out the light as he left, walked up the stairs to his apartment.

—-

Steve rose early the next morning, even though it was Saturday. They only informally got weekends off—it meant no paperwork, but there was still the chance that they could be called in for duty—and Steve had just gotten into the habit of getting up early. He headed down to the main level and saw that he was up before everyone else, as he figured he would be. Clint and Natasha were sleeping off last night, Bruce was probably up, but still on his floor doing yoga or whatnot, and with Pepper in the tower, Tony probably wouldn’t be down for a while.

Shrugging, he shuffled into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal, opening the fridge and snagging the milk. He’d finish off two bowls and then head down for a light workout, followed by an energy bar or two, and then a little break to shower and get cleaned up before lunch. He plunked himself into a chair after grabbing a spoon and putting the milk away, absentmindedly rubbing at his eyes as he stirred his cereal. Sometimes it felt like a chore to keep up with his metabolism, with keeping energy bars and snacks in his pockets, making sure to eat every few hours, to count his calories and be certain he had eaten enough. 

His thoughts drifted again, uncomfortably, to Thor, and Steve couldn’t help but picture him in the outfit he’d seen him in last night, standing at the kitchen counter. It was always a bit weird to see Thor out of his regal clothing, without the cape and the hauberk and the armor, and Steve wondered if the others felt the same way about seeing him out of his suit.

In a strange way, he preferred Thor’s casual clothes to his armor. There was something about them, about the way they had hugged his body and shown it off, giving just enough that Steve was inspired to see more--

No. He wouldn’t do this. Thor had been dressed just like any other guy.

Steve shook his head and plunged his spoon back into his cereal.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was distracted for the rest of the day.

Tony caught up with him in the gym, indulging Steve in a little martial hand-to-hand sparring, in which Steve was slow to react and respond, leaving himself open most of the time, and he supposed he had earned the punch that Tony got in to his ribs, and he certainly deserved the one that Tony planted on the side of his head.

“We’re done,” Tony had said after that, out of breath. 

“Five more mintues?” Steve asked. Tony limped over to the corner and rested his hands on his knees, hunching over.

“I’m too out of breath from kicking your ass all around this ring,” he said. “Without my suit, mind you.” He picked up the water bottle he’d brought and took a long drink from it. “What’s up with you this morning? Normally I can never hit you.”

“Just...thinking.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t you say a word,” Steve warned.

Tony held up his hands, one still holding the bottle. “I won’t. I promise.” He took another drink. “There’s only room for two geniuses on the team, anyway, and I don’t think Banner’s planning on departing anytime soon, despite what he says.”

Steve snorted in laughter, undoing his gloves and headgear.

“So what’s on your mind, Cap?”

With a sigh, Steve re-fashioned the buckles on his equipment. “Just thinking about Thor and the others. Did you know he’s not allowed to leave the tower without someone?”

“Yeah,” Tony said as he stretched out one of his arms. “Ran into trouble with some cultist, and everybody decided it would be better if he had a shorter leash. Pepper takes him out sometimes. She took him to the stock exchange with her one time.”

“Seems kind of...harsh,” Steve said. 

Tony frowned, stretching out his other arm. “I don’t think it’s so bad. Clint and the others take him out pretty regularly.”

“Yeah, but still. He’s not supposed to even go for a stroll without somebody.”

“I think he’s pretty okay.” Tony shrugged, ducking down to step between the rope barrier of the ring. “I distinctly remember him being okay with Fury’s decision, and if he weren’t, he would’ve protested. Why do you care so much, anyway? I didn’t think you even liked him. If I recall correctly, you were very...relieved...when he packed up Loki and headed off for Asgard.”

Steve sighed. “I...I don’t know. I guess it just seems...sad to me, you know?”

Tony raised a brow, waiting for Steve to step out of the ring. “No.”

“I dunno. Foster left him to go work for S.H.I.E.L.D. with that grant money they gave her, his brother just wants to take his head off, and now he’s stuck in here like...like....”

“Rapunzel,” Tony finished, running a hand through his hair as they started to walk to the locker room. “So he’s had a few tough breaks. Doesn’t make it your problem. He’s still undeniably chipper about all of it.” 

“I just feel bad for him, is all,” Steve said, trying to rationalize this to both himself and to Tony. “I know what it’s like, to end up in a place that’s...that’s similar yet totally different and have no idea what you’re supposed to do or how to act.”

“Yeah, and you both adapted. New clothes, learn some slang...”

Steve opened his mouth to speak again, but Tony cut him off. “Don’t worry too much about it, Cap. I think he’s okay with it. If he weren’t, he would’ve said something.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “you’re right.”

—-

Thor was standing at the fridge, poking around inside it, when Steve headed down for lunch, freshly showered and groomed and feeling the pleasant soreness that always came from a good workout. As soon as Steve entered the room, however, he shut the door, still holding the bottle of Coke he’d picked out, looking like a child who had just been caught in the cookie jar.

“Hey, Thor,” Steve said, casually, and Thor took a step back, placing his Coke on the counter and unscrewing the lid.

“Captain.”

“So I was thinking,” Steve continued, opening the fridge and rummaging around inside, eventually deciding on a sandwich and hunting for the deli meat, “do you want to go out for drinks tonight? I still owe you for what you did for me, but if there’s something you’d rather do or want—”

“No, thank you, Captain,” Thor said, toying with the metal cap. It looked absurdly small in his thick fingers. “What I did for you warrants no reward.”

“C’mon, Thor, it’s just a few drinks.” Steve shut the fridge and set his items on the table, snagging a loaf of bread off the counter. “You go out with Clint and Natasha all the time. I mean, if it really makes you that uncomfortable, we don’t have to go, but I want to repay you.”

“All right, then.”

“So you’ll go?”

Thor nodded, slowly, glancing at Steve out of the corner of his eye.

“Seven o’clock work?”

“Yes, of course.”

“All right,” Steve said, undoing the twist-tie on the bread. “I’ll see you then.”

“Until then,” Thor said, flashing a smile before he left the room, one which caught Steve’s gaze for a second, for too long of a second in his book. It wasn’t like when Tony or Clint smiled at him, friendly and platonic, one that eased his worries and reassured him—no, this smile made his chest tight, made him remember that kiss and just as Steve was putting mayo on his sandwich he realized that tonight was going to be a very long night.

—-

Steve almost immediately regretted his decision.

Of course, he could have cancelled with Thor, told him he’d have to reschedule or whatnot, and he knew Thor really wouldn’t have minded, which, in a way, depressed Steve. There was also the option of inviting Clint or Tony, but that felt weird, and he knew if he invited Tony Thor would become the third wheel.

Limiting it to the two of them, however, felt too much like going out on a date with Thor. Steve knew that guys frequently did this, went out to bars together. How many times he had gone out with just Bucky? And even now, he’d gone out with Tony or Clint or Bruce on several occasions. It was never a problem with any of them, so it shouldn’t be a problem now.

But they hadn’t been the one lying next to him on that bed, hadn’t been the one kissing back when Steve kissed him.

And when Thor came down the stairs in a t-shirt that seemed too tight (they always did on Thor; Steve could never understand it), with a brown leather jacket slung over his arm, Steve realized how date-like this whole affair felt.

He wondered if he should have gotten Thor a corsage. 

“Ready?” Steve asked.

“When you are.”

Steve smiled in reply, twisting the keys to Tony’s borrowed Mercedes in his hand. The drive didn’t take them long, mercifully, and Thor was quiet the whole way, either staring out the window, or picking at imaginary fuzz on his jeans. He didn’t seem ungrateful or anti-social, just reserved, maybe a little bit shocked that Steve was voluntarily spending time with him.

Come to think of it, Steve was a little shocked himself.

He parked down the street from the bar, fed the meter a few quarters while Thor looked on, and then the two of them started to walk. Steve was almost afraid to meet the gazes of any passers-by, worried that he’d catch some judgmental stare, wondering just how many of them must think that he and Thor were together, were dating, were...

...were gay.

Silently, Steve cursed Thor’s stupid tight shirt, and picked up his pace. It was ridiculous for him to think like that. Friends went out all the time and no one thought anything of it. He had to stop letting...whatever this was get to him.

Inside, the bar was dim and loud, as Steve expected for a Saturday night, but wasn’t quite so crowded as he’d anticipated, most of the din stemming from a group of rowdy college students packed in a large booth near the back. Frowning, Steve settled for sitting at the bar itself, figuring that a table would be too intimate of a setting, and afraid that it would again give people the wrong idea.

Thor didn’t seem to mind, nudging the stool next to Steve a few inches away before sitting on it, absentmindedly draping his coat on the empty stool next to him before resting his arms on the bar counter.

When the bartender came by, Steve ordered himself a ginger ale and then gestured at Thor, who surprised Steve when he simply requested a Heineken. 

“You know, you can just get a bucket of that,” Steve said, when their orders came.

Thor glanced at his bottle. “Perhaps later.” 

“Okay,” Steve said, laughing softly as he took a sip of his drink. He watched Thor intently study the label of his beer, reading it as though it were a textbook, and Steve realized that he had nothing to talk about with this man. Absolutely nothing. This wasn’t like Tony, where he could say something stupid and half of the time Tony would laugh anyway, or Clint, who was always up for some light talk on sports teams and who looked good for the new season, or Bruce, who was amiable to discussions on biology, science, and other things that Steve had an interest in, but only a vague understanding of.

They sat in silence, Steve stirring his glass of ginger ale with his straw, watching the condensation bead up on the side of the glass, trying to think of anything to kill some time. “I meant to ask you,” he said, as a half-formed thought drifted into his mind, “did you ever get Mjolnir back?”

Thor nodded, smoothing out the label on his bottle with his thumb. “It had been brought back to the tower for me.”

“Who managed that?” It was a legitimate question—aside from Thor, and Steve, there were very few people who could move Mjolnir.

“A man named Stephen Strange,” Thor said. “If my understanding is correct, he is also the one who helped Stark and the others find us.”

Steve nodded. “Tony told me that. I’d never heard of him before, and I guess Fury had to go through some red tape on that one.”

“Perhaps we ought to thank him. Stephen Strange, that is.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“So,” Steve said after several more minutes of awkward silence, spinning his glass on the bar, watching as the ice stayed put inside it, “how are you keeping up with...work?” He winced inwardly at the question, but what else did he have to talk about?

Thor looked at him, slightly befuddled. “Pardon?”

“I mean, is there anything you need? Our team...has some fairly unique requests. Is there anything you could use?”

Thor shook his head. “No, I am fine. And if I did, Agent Coulson would handle it.”

“Ah, yeah, right. Just figured I’d...ask.”

“Thank you for your concern, Captain.”

Steve took another long sip of his ginger ale, watching as Thor carefully peeled back the label on his beer. A thought drifted forward, some anecdote of Tony’s about how label-peeling was a sign of sexual frustration, but Steve chased the idea from his mind. Thor wasn’t pining for him, sexually or otherwise. “Do anything interesting with Clint lately?”

Thor swallowed, repasting the label. “Nothing of note.”

“Oh. Natasha? Bruce? Anyone?”

“I...no, not particularly.” Thor had peeled the label completely off, and was now tearing it into narrow strips. “Things are fairly...normal.”

“Do you go out by yourself?” What a stupid question, Steve thought. You already know the answer.

“I can’t.” Thor shook his head. “Fury has instructed me to stay in the tower, unless accompanied by a teammate or escort.” Steve tilted his head forward, skeptical, and Thor continued. “There are...cults here that follow me, and their harassment of myself and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel had escalated. Fury said it was for the safety of all parties, and I...agreed.”

Steve swallowed thickly. He hadn’t meant to call Thor out on this, to expose him as the potential threat part of the world viewed him as. This experience was already awkward enough for the both of them, and Steve had just turned it on its head. “I...I’m sorry.”

“It’s no fault of yours, Captain Rogers.”

“Please, for the love of God, just call me Steve. I’m not your boss. At least, not here.”

Thor nodded, like he understood, which Steve sincerely hoped he did. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No, I...I didn’t want to seem overly familiar with you. Sometimes that can be read as offensive.” 

“We’ve known each other for how long?” Steve smiled, forced a laugh, trying to ease the tension, and relief flooded through him when Thor returned a hint of a grin. There was silence again, albeit a slightly more comfortable one, and Steve ordered himself another ginger ale and a bucket of Heineken for Thor.

After the bartender had brought them their second round, Steve poking around the ice in his drink, he decided to speak again. “So what do you like to do around the tower?” Steve asked, and Thor raised a brow. “We don’t...cross paths often.”

Thor shrugged. “I have ways of amusing myself. Clint taught me how to use the television and the Xbox, and Natasha and Bruce sometimes give me books to read. And Tony has taught me how to use the Internet.” Thor paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Although I will never again request his recommendations for literature.”

“Why? What’d he give you?”

“A book called Twilight, which I found in...poor taste, to say the least.”

“I haven’t read it, sorry.”

“Don’t bother with it.”

Steve paused for a moment. “Have you ever read books on yourself?”

“Myself?”

“Yeah. I mean, here you’re like...a persona. A god. People write all these papers and books on what you mean and—”

“I’ve read some, yes.” Thor fished around in the bucket for another bottle. “It’s strange, reading about oneself in such a context. And one’s friends and relatives. There were many things presented to me that I...disagreed with.”

“Such as?”

Thor undid the bottlecap, setting the bottle opener back on the bar counter. “Such that I am the poor-man’s ‘idiot god.’ Or that Mjolnir is a phallic symbol.”

Steve thought of the fondness which Thor wielded his hammer, of his sheer attachment to such a weapon, one that mirrored Steve’s preference for his shield. They had seen a lot of fights together, and Thor must have seen thousands more with Mjolnir in his hand, and Steve vaguely wondered how he would feel if someone argued that his shield was a form of...compensation.

“Yeah,” he said, bemused. “Were any of them true? The stories, that is.”

“A handful,” Thor admitted. “The ones concerning Frey and Freya are mostly true, and a few surrounding my father.”

“I haven’t read any of them,” Steve confessed. “My knowledge pretty much stops with you.” And even then, it’s not too deep, he thought sardonically.

Their silence settled in, not as uncomfortable as before, and Thor uncapped another Heineken, stacking the bent bottlecap on top of the other, and Steve was surprised to see how dexterous his fingers were for their size.

“Who’s the worst you’ve ever fought?” he asked, out of the blue, wondering just what would make Thor’s knees knock in fright. 

“With you and the others, or prior to that?”

Steve shrugged. “With us, I guess. Either or.”

Thor’s eyes clouded over for a moment, and Steve knew he must undoubtedly be thinking of his brother, be thinking of all of the horrid, nerve-wracking fights they had gotten into with Loki and his minions. Loki may have not been their most powerful enemy, but the vendetta he held against Thor coupled with his persistence made him a very large threat. Each second Thor sat there in silence made Steve regret his choice to ask such a thing even more.

“You don’t have to answer—”

But a moment later, Thor gave a quiet, almost half-hearted reply of, “Gravitron.” A pause. “You?”

“Doom. He’s just too...prepared.”

Thor laughed. “If this task were an easy one, people like you would not have to do it.”

“I know,” Steve murmured. “But sometimes I wish it were.”

“I concur.”

“Too bad we can’t petition for a week’s vacation,” Steve said, smiling sadly.

Thor turned his stool slightly, twisting to face Steve. “What would you do with it?” he asked. “With a week of your time?”

The question pulled Steve up short. He really had no idea what he would do with a week off—all Steve wanted was the prospect of having time to himself, time where the world didn’t depend on him, a chance to sit and breathe and not worry.. “I...I don’t know, actually. I’d probably just sit around and watch old movies or maybe go down to the Guggenheim.” Thor cocked a brow, and Steve bit his lip. “Well, what would you do? Would you go back to Asgard?”

“No,” Thor said, so matter-of-factly that it irked Steve. “I have already seen Asgard, I know what it has to offer. This place is still new to me—there is much I have not seen and have not experienced.”

“Like?”

“Places outside of this city, such as the Grand Canyon or Everest or the great rain forests of Brazil—we have nothing like these in Asgard.” He paused, impatiently brushing a strand of hair from his face, and Steve saw that there was some color in his cheeks. “I should like to see a hurricane, if I could. To experience a storm far greater than one I have ever seen.”

“Storms like that aren't joyrides, Thor.”

“I did not mean to suggest they were.” The flush grew slightly darker. “But I have an...affinity for such things.”

Steve supposed that made sense, what with the title God of Thunder and all. Then a thought occurred to him, remembering stories of terrible storms and the devastation left in their wake. “Could you stop a storm like that?”

“I have never tried, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible.”

Shaking his head, Steve laughed softly. “If you ever decide to stop being an Avenger, you could make yourself very popular with most of the planet. Those cults aside.”

Thor smiled sadly, and gave a snort of amusement, taking a long drink from his latest Heineken until the bottle was drained. “Would you ever give up such a task?” he asked, reaching for another one out of the bucket.

“Being an Avenger?”

Thor nodded, popping the cap off. 

“I don’t know that I could,” Steve answered. “I...I’d feel obligated. I’ll probably be doing this until they force me out.”

Thor nodded sagely. “You are a good man, Steve,” he said, and Steve could hear the silent “Rogers” that Thor usually added to his name. “You should be proud.”

“I...thank you.”

—-

The rest of the night was more lighthearted, their conversation turning to lighter topics, until they both descended into telling embarrassing or funny stories about their teammates. Thor finished the Heineken and two extra bottles before Steve decided that they’d had enough, paying their tab as Thor fumbled with his jacket, eventually managing to pull it over his shoulders just as Steve was about to help him.

For the amount he’d drank (drunk?) Thor was holding up rather well, Steve mused. His face was pink and his reactions slower, movements jerky, but his speech was, for the most part, coherent, if a bit louder than normal. He stumbled once on his own two feet as they walked back out to the Mercedes, but it was nothing serious and he was able to laugh it off while Steve fished for the keys.

The drive home was smooth, Thor staring out the window, sated and happy.

“Have a good time?” Steve asked as he turned out onto the street, the engine purring as he hit the gas.

“I did,” Thor answered, smiling again, and Steve quickly cast a quick glance in his direction, turning back to the road before that damn grin got to him. “Thank you.” He was silent for a moment, Steve focused on navigating them back home—he didn’t care for GPS, no matter how Tony praised it—and when Thor spoke again, it caught him nearly off guard. 

“I hope you found my company as enjoyable as I found yours.” The little satisfied smirk had reappeared, a bit more shyly this time, but Steve could definitely see it out of the corner of his eye.

Steve sucked in a quick breath. Was Thor...flirting? Or had the alcohol affected him enough that he’d reverted to the overly-affectionate man Steve had first been introduced to? Or did he mean nothing by it at all, simply saying he had fun, and Steve was reading more into the question than Thor intended? “I, uh, I had a good time, too,” he replied, leaning forward intently, watching the road with unwarranted intensity. 

“Good,” Thor said, but it was quieter, more reserved, and Steve knew he’d picked up on his discomfort.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, Thor kneading the fabric of his jeans, and Steve tapping half-hearted, offbeat rhythms on the steering wheel with his fingers in nervousness. He was grateful to turn into the garage, parking the car next to the BMW Tony had, sliding the key smoothly from the ignition as Thor fumbled with his door.

Thor tripped getting out, and before Steve could catch him—before Steve even realized what was going on—he was on the pavement, trying to brace himself on his palms and failing miserably, his chin cracking against the cement, and all Steve could do was wince as he jogged around the rear of the car.

“You okay?”

“I...I believe so.” Thor started to push himself to all fours, his jacket and shirt riding up a bit, and Steve realized how completely inappropriate it was to stare at the angle of his hipbones, to take in the curve of his back and the hue of his skin. 

“Here, let me give you a hand,” he said, reaching down, trying to distract himself. Thor extended his hand, and Steve pulled him to his feet, looping Thor’s arm over his shoulders. Using the elevator, it take long to get to Thor’s floor, and then he’d be out of Steve’s hair, curled up in his bed, where he belonged. Steve’s other arm, the one that wasn’t holding Thor’s arm across his shoulders, slipped down to grip the other man by his torso, giving Steve a bit more leverage to carry him with.

Thor seemed dazed, staring at Steve’s hand, his cheeks bright pink, but he didn’t ask Steve to move it. Steve gritted his teeth and focused on walking, not how firm Thor’s muscles felt beneath his hand, or how his shirt was riding up again, how if he didn’t let go of Thor soon it was going to ride up far enough that Steve would be touching his bare, warm, soft skin—

Steve could feel his face color, and he looked away, knowing full well that Thor wouldn’t remember or even notice. He guided them through a doorway, now into the kitchen, past the common room, and finally to the elevator. Thor tripped getting in, bracing himself on the handrail in the elevator, and as he straightened back up he put his hand squarely on Steve’s stomach for leverage, his palm lingering there for far longer than it should. Steve looked down at him, and Thor looked confused and ashamed, dropping his hand and mumbling a quick, “Sorry.” He tried to pull himself off of Steve, but Steve held his arm firm, and although Thor, intoxicated, could have easily broken his grip, he stopped struggling after a second.

“Steve,” he said, once they were navigating his living area, “if I were to tell you something, can you swear not to tell Colonel Fury?”

“That depends on what it is, but I’ll go ahead and say yes for now.”

“I don’t always remain in the tower. Sometimes I...I like to go out alone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I usually don’t go far, and I’m in no way trying to undermine Fury, I just want to take pictures.”

Pictures? What was Thor talking about? “Pictures?” he asked.

Thor nodded. “Mm-hmm. I like going to Central Park. No one usually bothers me there. And there are some good places to shoot.”

“Okay,” Steve said neutrally, trying not to show his dubiousness at Thor’s confession. “I think I can keep that from Fury.”

Thor frowned at him, brows furrowed. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, it’s not that. Believe me, Thor, I can understand the need to just get out by yourself, but you don’t have to try so hard to convince me.”

“You don’t believe me.” Thor’s frown deepened and he pushed away from Steve a bit, though Steve kept a light hold on his arm in case he stumbled again. “Never mind.”

Steve got him to his bedroom with little trouble thereafter. Thor collapsed on his bed, having the good sense to kick his shoes off before curling up and pulling the covers over himself, Steve standing awkwardly near the door, waiting until Thor had settled down before backing out of the room.

With Thor taken care of, Steve shuffled back to the elevator, arriving at his own rooms a moment later, silently pushing the door open and carefully closing it behind him. He pulled off his jacket, sighing as he hung it back up in his closet and tugged his shoes off one by one, setting them neatly near the closet door. His button-up shirt and khakis were traded for flannel pants and a T-shirt, and then Steve pushed the covers down and got into bed.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, something he quickly regretted when the image of Thor’s face, smiling, with pink cheeks and clear blue eyes, popped into his mind’s eye. Almost angrily, he opened his eyes, chasing Thor from his thoughts, upset that his subconsciousness would choose to settle on that. Yet he knew the moment he closed his eyes again, he’d see Thor, and what upset Steve the most was the knowledge that it wouldn’t be something benign and platonic. He’d tried to forget what had happened when they were captured, push it out of his mind, but it kept coming back, no matter what he did. He couldn’t even blame Thor. The Aesir hadn’t forced him. Steve had responded of his own free will, had wanted it, and that was the most damning thing of all.

He sighed in frustration, opening his eyes and looking around the dark room, picking out the outlines of his furniture. His cock was half-hard between his legs, spurred on by Steve’s unwilling recollection of their kiss, of the way Thor’s skin felt under his fingertips, of how Thor’s hand had felt on him, clinging to Steve in the stairwell. Ashamedly, Steve lifted the covers a bit, twisting his legs and thinking Traitor as he looked down.

His body wasn’t supposed to react like this, just like how his mind wasn’t supposed to dwell on another man, especially not Thor. Steve rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and deliberately keeping Thor from his thoughts until he succumbed to sleep.

—-

Tony, the smarmy bastard that he was, found Steve at breakfast, when he was quietly brooding over his cornflakes.

“How was your date with Thor?” he asked without preamble, heading to the fridge, and Steve shot him a look. “Did you get him flowers?”

“Very funny,” he said flatly, and Tony raised a brow at his tone. He knew when to back off, and Steve had made it fairly clear that this was something he didn’t want to be pressed on. “And it was fine.”

Tony nodded, half-interested, more focused on getting the carton of eggs out of the fridge and picking two out before replacing the carton. “That’s good.”

“Yep.” Steve took another bite. “He told me you recommended Twilight to him.”

“And?”

“And I googled it this morning.” Steve finished the last bite in his bowl, standing and moving to put it in the sink. As he passed Stark, however, he lightly punched him in the arm. “That’s for recommending him that.”

“Hey, it was either that or The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”

Steve sighed as he rinsed out his bowl. 

—-

Thor was unsure how to interpret Steve’s actions from the previous night.

He had always known that Rogers and Stark judged him the most harshly out of all his comrades, but that they had their reasons for doing so. Rogers took the team very seriously—anyone on base could tell you that the Avengers was Steve’s team, that he was responsible for them, that he led them and expected the most from them. Steve had certain standards and ideals that he held for each of them, and no one--not even Stark--was safe from those. 

Yet last night, after some initially awkward conversation, Steve had become engaged and...interested? Of course, Thor knew that the entire evening had been motivated out of Steve’s need to pay his debts, and possibly pity. From his point of view, Thor must seem the hapless foreigner, the one who would never adapt, the one who was included in the group for his usefulness but otherwise had no real connection to the team. 

The rational part of his mind told him to make nothing of it. One night wasn’t going to change the way Steve felt about him, let alone the rest of the team. The more optimistic side of himself said that maybe it was a start, that it would expand the foundation for relationships built on mutual trust and respect, not just utility. But then he would inevitably remember their kiss, remember how Steve had kissed back, and suddenly Thor doubted that was possible, and furthermore, he couldn’t even be sure that was what he really wanted.

For the next two days, he returned to his routine. Clint found him once watching television and joined him, and Bruce ate breakfast with him on the second morning, but aside from that, Thor was left to his own devices. He spent time in the gym, skimmed through the latest book Natasha had recommended, worked on some of his projects in Photoshop, and exchanged awkward glances and greetings with Steve whenever they passed each other.

It didn’t seem as though Steve were going out of his way to avoid him, but Thor didn’t normally have contact with him, so it was impossible to accurately judge. Thor thought that things had gone back to normal, a little relieved that he at least hadn’t made things worse.

As it was, he wasn’t certain how he would handle any kind of further interaction with Steve. There was tension between them—he could feel it from Steve, but whether it was from unease or confusion or even reluctant desire, Thor couldn’t tell. But he was worried because he knew there would be a point when they would have to simply trust each other on the battlefield, have to rely on each other to do what needed to be done, and he was afraid that this new tension might cause that to stumble, to the detriment of the entire team.

And still, the memory of that damned kiss would not leave him.

Now, whenever he let his thoughts wander, they always came back to Steve. It would be a glimpse of his smile while he talked with Tony or remembering the way his arm had felt around him, and for a moment Thor would be lost, caught up entirely in the past, until he reminded himself that such things were not appropriate. 

But in the back of his mind, he wondered if Steve had similar thoughts.

He had just settled into the couch to watch some TV before lunch, a half-formed plan of his afternoon floating around his head involving sparring in the gym with Natasha, when Steve stuck his head in the room, and for a second, Thor couldn’t contain his surprise at seeing him.

“I’m going down to Nicky’s for lunch,” he said nonchalantly, as if spending time with Thor were a common part of his itinerary. “You wanna come?”

Thor took a brief glance around the room to make sure Steve was, in fact, talking to him. “I’d like that,” he said, reaching for the remote and flipping it off with the careful press of a button. 

“Good,” Steve said, grinning. “Meet you downstairs in five.”

Steve left once Thor had nodded in acknowledgement, and Thor headed upstairs to find his jacket and shoes and wallet, checking to make sure he had cash on hand. There were a few crisp, green bills in there, and Thor checked to be certain he’d have enough. Paper money was something that was still alien to him, although he saw the immense practicality of it, being so lightweight and small, but sometimes Thor missed the great treasure rooms they had had in the palace. The gold statues and jewels and ornaments they had stockpiled there brought a sheer physicality to wealth, something that seemed far more impressive than the strings of numbers on a computer screen that told the world Tony Stark was a billionaire. Credit cards were even stranger, and he only gotten one to use when he made purchases from the internet.

Shoving his wallet into his back pocket, as he had seen Tony, Steve and Clint do, Thor grabbed his shoes and pulled his jacket on and headed downstairs. Steve was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, idly shifting his weight from foot to foot. He still wore the bomber jacket, a memento of the time he was truly from, although the rest of his attire had for the most part shifted, from stiff button-up shirts and khakis to T-shirts and jeans.

“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” Thor said, and Steve shook his head no.

“You didn’t.” 

The three-block walk was short, their conversation consisting mostly of a brief exchange of pleasantries. Steve seemed friendlier this morning, more relaxed, and Thor considered the possibility that Steve was, in fact, simply warming up to him. He talked eagerly about the restaurant they were going to (“...great little hole in the wall place, I found it by accident about a year ago...”), and Thor simply nodded and smiled when appropriate.

It felt strange to be out and about and have Steve with him. The only times he was ever in public with Steve was when there was danger at hand and an enemy to be engaged, when they were both in the midst of battle. Of course, out of their uniforms it was harder to recognize them, and Thor had noted that the people here tended to be more unaware of their surroundings.

When they reached their destination, Thor took a moment to survey the place while Steve pulled the door open. There was a faded red neon sign above, with “Nicky’s” spelled out in a neat script, and as Steve held the door open for him, Thor could see the white and blue tiled floor and the counters inside. 

He stood still, dumbfounded for a moment, until Steve stepped past him, gesturing for Thor to follow him up to the counter. As Steve reached for his wallet, pulling it out of a jacket pocket, Thor copied him, standing a few feet away as Steve approached the man at the counter. 

“I’ll have a number one,” he said, casually, flipping open his folio wallet and pulling out a bill, “with a Coke.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it.” Steve slid the bill over the counter, glancing at Thor, who was pretending to read the menu, as he waited for his change. Thor already knew he was going to get the exact same thing that Steve had ordered; he was just reading the menu so Steve wouldn’t think he were utterly helpless.

“And you?”

The question from the scruffy, dark-haired man running the register startled Thor, and without thinking, he responded with a, “The same.”

“Seven forty six,” came the reply, and Thor fished in his wallet, pulling out the appropriate number of bills and handing them over. He was given a receipt with his order number on it and some change, and then Thor looked at Steve for guidance.

“They call your number,” Steve said, holding up his own receipt, and Thor nodded. They waited in silence for a few minutes, until the dark-haired man came back from the kitchen with two red plastic baskets and called their numbers.

Steve picked them both up, handing Thor one, and then pointed to a booth near the front windows. “This okay?” 

“It’s fine,” Thor said, following him over and sliding into the other side of the booth. He peered down into his basket, finding a shiny, foil-wrapped tube sitting amidst a bed of fries. Steve was carefully peeling back the foil on his to reveal his meal—a flat, rounded piece of bread folded around strips of meat and vegetables.

When Steve noticed Thor’s momentary hesitation, he laughed softly, holding his half-wrapped meal in his hands. “Ever have gyros before?”

“No.” He’d tried a number of things already, but not this. Natasha was fond of introducing him to new cuisines, since she had traveled most of the world, and Bruce was also quick to offer up recommendations for things to try.

“You’ll like it,” Steve insisted, glancing down at his sandwich before watching Thor again. He peeled back the foil, being careful not to rip it as Steve had done, until he’d exposed enough to start eating, and, after seeing Steve happily chewing a mouthful, Thor took his first bite. 

Perhaps he wasn’t as enchanted with it as Steve was, but it wasn’t at all bad. Steve watched him hesitantly, searching Thor’s face for any signs of approval or dislike, and tilting his head expectantly when Thor finished chewing.

“How’s it taste?”

“It’s good,” Thor said, taking another bite to reinforce his statement. Steve smiled and then reached for his Coke, taking a mouthful to wash his food down.

“So what’ve you been up to the last few days?” he asked, setting the Coke aside and taking another bite while he waited for Thor to answer.

Thor pondered the question for a moment. “My usual activities,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “Yourself?”

“The same,” Steve answered around a mouthful of food. “Being hassled by Fury, paperwork, gym, putting up with Tony...” He swallowed, reaching for the Coke again. “I meant to tell you, Tony said that Strange is supposed to be visiting the R&D department to look at that collar. You want to swing by and see if we can meet him?”

“I’d like to meet him, yes. When will he be here?”

“From what Tony gathered, tomorrow. I’ll call you when I know more.” 

Thor peeled back more of the foil. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Remind me before we go to pick up something for Tony. He got dragged into doing some redesigns and he’ll spend all day drafting and forget to eat if I don’t bring him something.”

“Of course,” Thor said after a moment’s pause, and he looked down to the table, taking another bite of his food and chewing slowly. So that was why Steve had brought him, because Tony was preoccupied. For a minute Thor felt hurt, hurt that he was only asked to come along because Tony wasn’t available and Steve hadn’t wanted to go alone. But then again, Steve had asked him, not one of the others, when he could have just as easily sought out Natasha or Clint. That had to mean something, right? Besides, someone had taken an interest in him enough to spend time with him; he really shouldn’t be criticizing their reasons for doing so.

But for the rest of the conversation, Thor simply nodded in encouragement as Steve spun stories, never offering a word of his own.

—-

Despite his disappointment over yesterday, Thor still kept his phone charged and on his person for the next day, waiting for Steve’s call. He’d been given the thing a year ago, when Tony finally complained about the ones that S.H.I.E.L.D. had given them and broken down and bought new phones for the whole team. The concept of such technology had been new to him, and it had taken some getting used to, which had to be repeated when he was given this newer phone, but Thor had quickly figured it out. He knew how to make calls, how to text, and Clint had shown him how to get the Internet on his phone, although Thor rarely bothered to use it.

He didn’t see the need for such a device, although he understood why people like Tony were dependent on them. Tony relied on the device for many things beyond phone numbers and communication, and Thor figured that if he had Tony’s intellect, he would need help remembering things, too.

And shortly before lunch, Thor felt the thing buzz in his pocket, grateful that no one was around to see him jerk in surprise. He pulled it out, swiping a finger across the screen to unlock the phone, and then opened the text message from Steve.

Strange’ll be in the R&D dept around 1. Meet you there?

He paused for a moment. Certainly, he typed back, carefully pressing the touch screen. He was always slow to type on the phone, because his fingers were too thick for such tiny keys and because the phone was so fragile, but he managed.

And so, after a sandwich and some chips and sitting down to watch an episode of The A-Team, Thor left the tower and headed over to HQ, escorted by agent Hill. He took the elevator down, earning a few polite, respectful nods from those who recognized him on the way, and then Thor was standing amidst men in white coats and searching for Steve. The engineering department of S.H.I.E.L.D. had always fascinated him, with its endless white tile hallways and fluorescent lights and thick, windowless steel doors. If Thor had had the time and the clearance, he would’ve liked to open every one, just to see what lay behind them.

Perhaps one day he would, but now Steve had come to fetch him at the elevator. “We’re down this way,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and pointing down a hallway. Thor nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and starting to follow him. 

Steve led him down the hall, stopping at the fourth steel door, which was propped slightly open, and he pulled it open before waiting for Thor. “He’s not here just yet,” Steve said, “but he’s on his way down, according to Coulson.”

He held the door open for Thor, who stepped inside and immediately to the left of the doorway, surveying his surroundings. On a few occasions, Thor had been down in Bruce’s lab, allowed to look at—but never to touch—the strange machines and glass tanks and other oddities, and he found this room nearly the same. Steel tables lined the walls and were arranged throughout the room to make several clear aisles, and resting on said tables were bulky, angular devices designed to measure things Thor had never heard of.

Tony stood with another engineer near the left wall, before a glass case that held the collar he’d been fitted with during his captivity. Steve looked from Tony to Thor, and then back to the collar, before asking, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Thor answered, eyes still scanning over the room. To him, it was undoubtedly parallel to his father’s treasure room, where Odin had piled valuables to display them, yet here these priceless things were hidden away under steel and concrete, only to be viewed by a select handful. 

“Don’t touch anything,” Steve cautioned, yet there was no patronizing tone to his voice. Instead he looked slightly nervous. “Tony nearly wrung my neck for fiddling with a dial.”

Thor laughed softly, and the anxiety rushed from Steve’s face, replaced by a small grin of his own as Tony looked over at them. He muttered something about “two jocks in a science lab” and then turned back to the other engineer, leaving Thor and Steve to their own devices.

“Tony said this guy looks like a magician,” Steve said, leaning against one of the tables after checking that it was clear.

“A magician?” Thor questioned. He was familiar with the concept, having seen portrayals in film and television, although he had never encountered one in reality. To him, they were a sort of cheap ploy on sorcerers like his brother, those who could command forces of the occult rather than science.

“Yeah. You know, top hats and white rabbits and plastic wands.” Steve shrugged. “But it’s Tony. I’ve learned to take what he says with a grain of salt.”

“Indeed,” Thor said, shaking his head and recalling Twilight. Steve snorted in amusement.

They didn’t have much longer to wait until Coulson pushed the door open, holding it open for a well-dressed man in his early forties, around the same age as Tony. His hair was black save for two gray patches at his temples, swept back close to his skull, and he sported a thin mustache. He wore a white button-up shirt, the kind Steve had been particularly fond of before transitioning to T-shirts, and a pair of black slacks and shiny black shoes As he entered the room, he idly unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and began to roll them up. This man was nothing like the magicians Thor had seen on TV or the movies. He had no wand, no flowing robes, no hat and no cape. To Thor, he was simply a well-dressed man. Perhaps Tony had simply been jealous.

Strange (or at least Thor was assuming he was Strange) sized up Tony first, and Tony visibly bristled at Strange’s judgment, remaining tense even as Strange shifted his gaze to Steve and then Thor.

Steve was the first to extend his hand in welcome. “Steve Rogers,” he said, waiting for Strange to grasp his hand, and the man hesitated for a second, Steve’s face turning confused.

But he grasped it, shaking it briefly, and responding with, “Doctor Stephen Strange.”

Coulson stepped around Strange, gesturing to Tony on the other side of the room. “You’ve already met Stark,” he said, and then looked over at Thor, “and this is Thor.”

Strange nodded, seeming a bit spellbound, extended his hand, and Thor shook it politely. He sensed a kind of mysticism about the man, could see the intelligence in his eyes, and for a brief second, Thor was reminded of his brother. But while Loki’s eyes were dark and scheming, Strange seemed bright and inquisitive.

“We wanted to thank you for what you did for us,” Steve explained. “When Tony mentioned that you’d be doing some work with him on that collar, we decided to drop by.”

“You’re most welcome, Captain,” Strange said. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“If you ever need a favor or anything, don’t hesitate to call,” Steve said. 

“Thank you,” Strange said, taking a step in Tony’s direction, a subtle gesture that he had to get to work.

“Dr. Strange,” Thor asked, just as Strange was turning, believing he was done with the previous conversation, and Strange stopped, turning to look back at Thor. “I wished to know just how you found us, if you could tell me.”

Strange raised a brow. “That collar,” he said, pointing at the tank. “My training allows me to sense...disturbances all over the world. I’d never felt anything like it before, and when I approached S.H.I.E.L.D. about the matter, well....” He rolled his hand in a small circle, and Thor nodded, eyes darting back to catch a glimpse of Tony sarcastically mouthing “disturbances” and rolling his eyes.

“Director Fury asked me to take a look at it, in order to help Stark and your research team understand how it functions,” he continued, turning back to Tony, who dropped his antics. “I’m interested to study it myself as well.”

“Then we shall leave you to your work,” Thor said, turning to Steve, who pushed himself off from the counter.

“Thank you again,” Steve said, and Strange dipped his head in acknowledgement. Thor took a step back to the door, Strange now speaking with Tony and the assistant, and he pulled it open, Steve filing out of the room. Thor followed, shutting the door behind him as Steve folded his arms over his chest.

“Well, he didn’t look like any magician I’ve ever seen,” Steve said, starting down the hallway after Thor had completely closed the door. “I think Tony was just making things up because Strange was the one to find us, not him.”

“Perhaps,” Thor said. 

“I researched him,” Steve continued. “On the internet. All I found was a surgeon, one who fell off the face of the earth a few years ago.” A pause. “But he did say he was a doctor.”

Thor shrugged. “Sorcery is a complicated matter. I would not be surprised if that man were a capable caster.”

“Easy for you to say. You grew up accepting magic and fantastical creatures and spells. To me they’re still...surreal.” 

Thor nodded, beginning to walk towards the elevators. “Are you returning to the tower?”

“No, not now.” Steve glanced over at the door. “I’m going to stick around and wait ‘til Tony’s done.”

“Until later, then.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

Thor took a step backwards, watching Steve for a second before he turned, shoving his hands in his pockets and beginning the walk back.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve approached him again the night after.

Thor was in the entertainment room, typically the only other room he ever occupied outside of the communal kitchen and the gym, and up until about a half hour before Steve’s arrival, Clint had been with him. They’d been playing the Xbox, doing multiplayer in Gears of War, until Clint had received a text message and excused himself, and Thor hadn’t really felt like playing by himself after that.

So he’d shut the Xbox off and channel surfed for a while, searching for anything that piqued his interest. He had almost settled on an episode of Law & Order when Steve knocked lightly on the door frame.

“Hey. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Thor said, shifting over on the couch to give Steve more room. The couch pillows gave a soft plop as Steve sank down on them, and Thor pulled his eyes away from Steve to look at the television once more.

“What’re you watching?”

“I haven’t chosen anything yet,” Thor confessed, reaching for the remote once more. “Did you have a request?”

“Nope. Whatever’s on is fine.”

Thor decided that Law & Order was good enough and left it. They sat in silence, Steve focused on the TV, and Thor trying to relax with Steve next to him. He, too, turned to the television, but couldn’t immerse himself in the complexity of Midgardian law like he usually did, and Thor found himself sneaking glances over to Steve.

Why was he here? Steve had no reason to be. He had other friends—why wasn’t he down in Tony’s workshop, or off with Clint? Was he here simply out of pity? Had that night at the bar provoked Steve into doing this?

Steve sighed and shifted, his posture slumping as he sank into the cushions. He looked...bored. That was all there was to it. He was simply passing the time, and Thor’s spirits sank.

“You have no obligation to spend time with me, Captain Rogers.” Thor stared intently on the television, aware that Steve had looked over.

“What?”

“I have no desire to be pitied. If that’s why you’ve chosen to be here, then I must request that you leave.”

Steve turned to look at him, more than a little shocked and definitely concerned. “You think this is pity?”

“You have no reason to socialize with me, Captain, and prior to a few nights ago, you had never done so. What am I to think?”

Steve sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t a pity visit, Thor. When you first got here, I’ll admit, I judged you pretty hard. You were cocky, and you certainly had the firepower to back up your boasting, and we were in a tight spot.” He paused. “You fought well, and you were on our side, and then, when it was all settled, you...left. And then by the time you’d gotten back, I’d already settled in here, and I just...never got to know you more. You worked fine as part the team, after all.”

He sucked in a quick breath. “And then when we were captured, and after what you did, I was forced to completely reevaluate what I thought of you and I realized I had been grossly unfair.”

Thor made a protesting noise. “Any of the others would have done the same.”

“I-no, that’s not quite what I mean. All of the Avengers would die for any of us in a heartbeat, but I think what you did was harder. Tony....” He paused, frowning. “If I had been stuck with Tony, that wouldn’t have been an idea he came up with willingly or quickly. I don’t doubt he would have done it eventually, but I do think it would have taken him a lot longer.”

“Stark would not have let you die.”

“No, he wouldn’t have. But you acted on your own, without hesitation, to help me at great risk to yourself. So when we got back here I decided to change the way I treated you. I’m sorry if it comes off as pity, and if you want me to, I’ll go, but that’s not what it is, Thor.”

They sat there in silence for a long moment, Thor with his teeth gritted together, and Steve anxiously rubbing his palm with his thumb and casting worried looks at Thor.

“I...I am sorry I accused you of such a thing, then.”

“Don’t be sorry. Do you believe me, at least?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

They watched rest of the episode in a tense, heavy quiet. Thor wondered if he’d set back the progress that had been made by voicing his doubts. He’d respected Steve, and Steve had respected him, and before this, they had been able to coexist just fine. Steve had had his friends, Thor his, and they had been pleasant to one another. But now their captivity had...changed something, had sparked an interest that Thor hadn’t even known about.

Steve shifted again on the couch. “Thor?” he began.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“No,” Thor answered. “What is it?”

Steve turned to face him, drawing one leg up on the couch. “They’re movies that Tony always rants about. He tells me I have to see them, that they’re excellent. I feel like the only one who hasn’t seen them sometimes. I just...figured you’d have seen them.”

Thor lifted a brow. “Tony recommends me Twilight. You think this Star Wars is something he would have mentioned to me?”

Steve laughed. “Point taken. So, you want to watch it tomorrow? I can steal Tony’s copy.”

Thor looked over at Steve, who seemed still a bit remorseful over what had been said earlier, but Thor could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’d like that.”

—

_Star Wars: A New Hope_ , apparently the first of a series, turned out to be a pretty good movie.

Steve was only a half hour in, but he was liking it so far. It had started out slow, and a bit confusing, but the story picked up quickly enough and Steve was fully into it now. Sitting in the darkness beside him, Thor seemed to be enjoying it, too, watching attentively, occasionally stealing a glance at Steve before sheepishly looking away when Steve met his gaze. He would then refocus on his popcorn or immediately reach for his beer, pretending like he hadn’t looked over at Steve to see if he was laughing or enjoying himself.

As the movie continued, he seemed to relax, even going so far as to playfully toss a popcorn kernel at the screen when Obi-Wan died, snorting in disapproval. Steve laughed at the sight, and Thor looked at him seriously for a moment before joining in. 

By the time the end credits rolled, Thor had finished a six pack and their popcorn was long gone. Steve retrieved Tony’s Blu-ray, neatly popping it back in the case as Thor piled up their trash, being sure to find the kernel he’d tossed earlier. Steve followed him into the kitchen, Thor tossing out the garbage and setting the cans aside for the recycling, just like Clint or Natasha would do. In a hoodie and jeans, sorting the recycling, he looked like a normal guy, not like the demigod Steve knew he was.

He set the Blu-ray on the counter as Thor finished up, glancing over his shoulder at Steve.

“Did you like it?”

“I did,” Thor said with a soft smile.

“Good,” Steve replied, staring down at the Blu-ray and opening the case. “There are two others in here; you wanna watch ‘em later on in the week?”

“Yes.” The smile returned to Thor’s face, and Steve couldn’t ignore the momentary flutter in his chest.

It was good to see him smile, to see him carefree, rather than angry or stern like he usually was when they were engaged in some conflict. It must have been hard, to leave behind everything that he had known and come here, to Earth, only to be constantly bogged down in fighting. Steve had wondered why he simply didn’t pack up and return to Asgard; he had friends, family, and a life there, too.

So why had he stayed?

Steve turned to watch Thor for a moment, the Aesir setting the bowl from the popcorn in the dishwasher. “Thor, can I ask you a...personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you ever go back to Asgard?” When Thor appeared confused for a moment, Steve clarified. “I mean, you have things there--friends, family, obligations.”

Thor’s face sobered, the smile evaporating. “I can’t leave,” Thor said. “My brother wouldn’t hesitate to harm you and the others if he thought it would hurt me. Even if I were to go, he would continue to threaten you, and I would not want to see any one, members of this team or otherwise, injured or killed because of it.”

Steve nodded slowly as Thor pushed the rack back into the dishwasher and closed the appliance. “It’s not such a bad thing, to be here,” Thor continued. “I enjoy this culture, and our teammates.”

“I understand,” Steve said. After a moment, he added, “Thank you.”

The grin tugged again at Thor’s lips. “Good night, Steve,” he said, stepping past Steve to leave the kitchen. Steve watched him disappear around the corner, Thor’s footsteps eventually fading off into silence, and then he was left alone in the kitchen.

He supposed Thor’s reasons for staying weren’t so different than the ones he’d had for signing up in the first place. Within both of them was a desire to protect, a desire to help those who perhaps didn’t respect them or even like them, but needed that protection nonetheless. It was something Steve had overlooked in Thor, something he had written off as condescension which he really shouldn’t have, because now he saw that Thor’s intentions were more noble than he had previously assumed.

—

Thor had found he quite liked Steve’s company.

It was refreshing, a welcome reminder of the friends he’d had back in Asgard, and yet Steve’s company was different enough that Thor had no sense of homesickness. He liked Steve—if their circumstances had been different, Thor had a suspicion that they could have been close from the start. Steve was responsible, a natural leader, and a fine warrior.

And if Thor were to be honest, he was also incredibly handsome.

Thor had know it before, had know that Steve was attractive. He could recognize beauty in both genders, although he had never personally found a man attractive in a sexual manner before now. But there was something about Steve that had sat in the back of Thor’s mind, a seed that had taken root when they had kissed, and now that they were spending more time together, had grown vines that snaked through all of his consciousness. 

Thor knew he should reject it. Such attraction was frowned upon in Asgard, and if it were discovered that the crown prince had acted upon his attraction to another man, their whole house would be shamed. His father would never be able to forgive him. Thor needed to produce heirs, not live a life of sordid debauchery and perversion.

Such thoughts weighed him down as he sifted through his latest box of prints. He’d picked them up from the pharmacy not too long ago, and was sorting them by subject matter. At first, when he’d been in the early stages of this hobby, he had asked his teammates (aside from Steve and Tony) if they minded him photographing them. Bruce had been a bit hesitant, but Clint had talked him into it, and Natasha was largely indifferent.

Sometimes he would snap a quick shot or two of one of them on the way out, but otherwise his subjects were mostly still lifes and nature shots. He had a few of Natasha and Clint from when they were sparring, a set that he was rather fond of. Once, he had asked Tony if he could quietly take a few shots while he worked, and Tony, shockingly, had allowed him, Thor silently snapping a few while Tony fiddled with his suit. 

That series, despite Thor’s nervousness, had turned out rather well, although Thor had never shown them to anyone, not evne Ms. Potts. He had always wanted to ask Steve’s permission, but he could never quite work up the courage, fearing that Steve would find his hobby ridiculous.

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t covertly snapped a few of Steve. He had a handful, three or four shots, taken when Steve was distracted or when they were out together as a group, but now, in the past few weeks, Thor had taken almost two dozen more covert shots of Steve. He never printed them, however, too afraid that Steve would accidentally discover them. Instead, whenever he wanted to see them, he imply fired up his Mac and took a gander. 

He pulled out two shots of Natasha, setting them aside, and then frowned over another shot of Steve. It was in the front hall, Steve talking to Tony, who had been laughing raucously at the moment Thor had taken the shot, and there was a bemused grin on Steve’s face, as if he considered it a feat to make Stark laugh.

Thor set it aside. The one underneath was a black and white print of Steve from behind, bent over his sketchbook as he sat at the kitchen table, distractedly looking to his left. Someone had called to him then, and he’d looked over, expression curious, yet ready to take charge.

Sighing, Thor quickly flipped through the rest of the stack, finding the rest of them to be prints of Steve. He set them down on the table almost carelessly, raking his hands through his hair. It felt greasy and dirty, like the rest of him, sullied by these thoughts about Steve. Thor carefully set the two prints of Natasha aside, piling the Steve ones up carelessly, but giving a lingering stare to the one on top as he stood up from his desk.

He needed a shower. It would give him a chance to clear his head and wash away his thoughts along with the grime. Yawning, he shuffled into his bathroom, kicking off his pants and pulling his T-shirt over his head before carelessly tossing it away. He started the shower, stepping inside when the water was still cold, feeling it warm up against his skin. For a while, he just stood, hair plastered to his face, arms folded over his chest, eyes shut, the water streaming down his body.

Back in Asgard, he had never felt such attraction for a man. He had known handsome men, yes, but he had never felt the desire to kiss and touch as he did with Steve. There was some strange spark there, and Thor wasn’t quite sure why.

Such a spark was only going to get him into trouble.

He snorted in frustration, rubbing at his eyes and then pushing his hair back. Thor didn’t dare look down, didn’t dare acknowledge his stiffening cock, because that would make it that much easier to entertain thoughts of Steve, of his hard, taut body, of his enthusiastic, innocent smile, of the grace and confidence with which he moved. 

What kind of a lover would Rogers be with that confidence?

Thor swallowed thickly, eyeing the shower door. No one was around, no one would come in here, and no one would be the wiser if he indulged himself. What would be the harm?

He bit his lip, well aware of how repeated thought could lead to action. _So I won’t repeat it_ , he promised himself, placing one hand on the tile wall of the shower as he widened his stance slightly. His other hand slid between his thighs, fingers ghosting around his cock.

Steve was strong, domineering, and Thor hoped he would be like that when engaged in carnal matters, too. It wasn’t that Thor wanted to be dominated; rather, he wanted to be _challenged_. Such aggression had been what attracted him to Sif, to Natasha, and he hoped Steve would share it. 

Their lovemaking didn’t have to be primal and violent. Thor knew that Steve wouldn’t be the kind to simply roll over and let Thor do as he pleased; he would be just as engaged in the affair as Thor was, tugging and pulling and pushing back. And Steve was strong, too—stronger than the rest of the team, so powerful at times that Thor was baffled at his mortality. Steve would be able to hold him down, to be rough with Thor if he pleased, even though Thor would still be the stronger of them.

Thor shivered a bit at the thought, hand beginning to work his cock, a fantasy filling his mind’s eye.

_They tumble into his bed, a clash of teeth and limbs, kissing and biting and groping. Steve pushes Thor onto his back, hard enough so that Thor knows not to move, and then Steve straddles him. He’s heavier than a woman, and the weight of his body on Thor is a constant, pleasant reminder that Steve is not a woman._

_Quickly, Steve’s shirt is pulled over his head, revealing his broad chest, and Thor can’t help but run his hands up and down it. Steve hisses in response, holding one of Thor’s hands over his nipple._

Thor gasped softly, his cock fully hard now, and he began to tease himself, stroking in long, drawn out motions.

_They tumble again, Thor pulling Steve down and lying on top of him. Steve helps him out of his shirt, and their pants are discarded a moment later. Steve is beautiful lying beneath him, his body a sculpted paragon of the male form. Thor can’t help but groan at the sight of him, mouth latching on to one of Steve’s nipples, his hand ferociously groping at his body._

_Steve pulls him up and locks their bodies together, jamming his leg between Thor’s thighs and wrapping his arms around Thor’s torso, hands settling on his ass. He squeezes and kneads as he draws them closer, grinding their hips together, and Thor can feel how hard Steve is, his erection pressing against Thor’s._

He was panting now, fingers closed tight around his cock, hips moving in quick, shallow thrusts.

_Thor ruts shamelessly against Steve, and each time Steve pushes back, it’s all the more exciting. They’re both hard and aching, and Thor can feel a stab of pleasure each time the wet tip of Steve’s erection pushes into his lower belly. They won’t last long like this, and when Steve tenses up, his hands gripping Thor hard, holding him in place as he gyrates his hips, Thor knows its over for him, too._

_Just as Steve finishes spilling between them, alternating between groaning and panting, Thor feels his orgasm hit him._

It hit him outside of his fantasy as well, semen dribbling down his fingers and over his knuckles, and Thor suddenly felt even more soiled than when he’d entered the shower. It was one thing to have fantasies about a nameless lover, another entirely the sully the image of a good man this way. If Steve knew about this, knew about Thor’s growing feelings and how he had acted upon them, he’d end their friendship for certain. 

Thor let go of his cock, rinsing his hand off in the shower. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t entertain himself with fantasies of Steve and then expect to interact with him normally. This would be his one and only time.

—-

 

_The Empire Strikes Back_ was just as good as _A New Hope_ , but Steve wasn’t a fan of the ending, and he hoped _Return of the Jedi_ would clear it up. Thor wasn’t thrilled either, apparently, because he kept leaning forward anxiously, waiting for another development like the reveal of Luke’s real father. When the film finished, he eyed the Blu-ray box, a silent question of _Next?_ in his eyes.

“Tomorrow night,” Steve assured him. “Too tired to concentrate on the last one tonight.”

Thor nodded, and Steve saw that he was tired as well. Together they cleaned up their snacks, and then Steve trudged up the stairs after Thor, bidding him goodnight as they parted ways in the hall. In his room, Steve shucked his shirt and jeans, trading them for flannel pants and a cotton T-shirt. He managed to stumble into his bathroom to brush his teeth before collapsing onto his bed and half-heartedly pulling the covers over himself.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, only that his consciousness flowed from the quiet dark of his room to the gym, _to where he's working out like always, doing lateral pull-downs and savoring the burn in his neck and shoulders. Behind him he can hear Thor running on a treadmill, and Tony just left, wandered out to go hit the showers and get cleaned up._

_It’s fine for a minute, until Thor stops on the treadmill and Steve looks over, catches him pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face on, and then Thor notices him looking, and stares back, grinning. Steve averts his gaze, goes back to his pull-downs, because it was just a friendly smile, nothing more than that._

_But Thor doesn’t leave to go to the locker room like Tony. Instead he approaches Steve, and Steve thinks he’s just going to the machine next to him, but Thor grabs the bar Steve’s pulling on, prevents him from yanking it down, and Steve drops his arms, staring helplessly up at him. Thor smiles again as he sits behind Steve on the bench, wraps his arms around him and then his lips are on Steve’s neck, hot and rough, and his hands paw at Steve’s chest as he begins to writhe._

_Thor holds him so tight, and his body is hot, kissing and biting Steve’s neck, not playful little love-bites, but marks, bruising things that are designed to show possession. Steve shivers in Thor’s arms, and rough hands push up his shirt, tweaking one nipple, then the other. Thor’s hand abruptly dives into Steve’s shorts, grasps his cock, and Steve squirms, gasping and reaching back to grab a fistful of Thor’s hair._

_He’s not sure how they end up on the floor, but then Thor’s on top of him, kissing his neck, licking hot trails on his throat. One of Thor’s thighs slips between his, Steve eagerly grinding against it as Thor pins his hands to the floor, and then he can feel Thor’s erection against his hip as Thor presses against him. Steve gasps, his voice descending into a moan as Thor continues to frot with him, harder, more urgently, groaning against Steve’s neck—_

His eyes snapped open, awareness shunting back to the darkness of his room, back to his pillow and sheets and bed, and back to the undeniable _problem_ between his legs. Steve sighed, burying his face in his pillow. He hadn’t woken up this hard, from a dream like that, in...months. Sure, he got urges, but they were rarely so bad that his subconscious had to intervene.

God, where had that even come from? One kiss, one measly kiss, maybe a handful of touches— _accidental_ touches—and he was panting after a man— _a man_ —he was just becoming friends with all the eagerness of a teenage boy just discovering that the body part between his legs was good for more than just pissing with. What was _wrong_ with him lately? He knew better, had better self control than this.

Still, there was no denying the almost painful throbbing in his groin. He closed his eyes, still lying on his stomach, wondering if he could just roll over and go back to sleep. He didn’t think so; he was too far gone at this point. Best to just get it over with. Frustrated, he flipped onto his back, peeling away the covers and revealing the uncomfortable tightness in his pants.

Before, back in his day, sex and masturbation and everything sexual—outside of the army, of course—had been a hush-hush ordeal. Steve had sometimes overheard conversations between soldiers and the Howling Commandos, but he always tuned them out, too embarrassed to listen, never mind participate. Waking up seventy years into the future had been even worse. But Tony, through several frank conversations early on, ones that had Steve red-faced and flustered, had explained the liberation that had taken place, the shift in society that had made sex so much more open and commonplace. It had taken Steve some time to adjust to it, but he had, and while he was certain that he didn’t do this nearly as much as Tony (or probably any of the others, for that matter), he no longer felt ashamed of it.

After his flannel pants were pushed down a bit, Steve licked his palm, deciding to just finish this and then curl back up to sleep. The fact that Thor had been the subject of his dream still unsettled him, but Steve was too tired to deal with it right now, and he hoped that perhaps he would just forget by tomorrow. Such was often the case with these midnight dreams, anyway.

Fingers wrapped around his cock, Steve started to fist himself, hips bucking up on the bed occasionally, his mind searching for an appropriate subject. He settled on Maria Hill—he’d admired her several times, and while he did feel a bit bad about “sullying her image,” it was just something convenient to think on. 

He was close now, picturing Maria, her face, her breasts, the curves of her body, imagining her taking him in hand before parting those full, pink lips and slipping his cock into her mouth. Steve knew he’d finish fast—he’d woken up aching and he hadn’t done this in almost a week. His hips bucked, his thighs trembling slightly, and Steve gasped, engrossed by his fantasy. 

His hand sped up, and suddenly Steve had to concentrate to keep Maria in his head as the memories of his dream sprang forward again. The thought of firm hands holding his hips down rather than delicate ones piqued his interest, and before Steve really realized what was going on, he’d swapped Maria with Thor, now picturing clear blue eyes looking up at him instead of gray ones, imagining calloused hands on his body instead of smooth digits, envisioning blond hair tickling his groin and thighs instead of soft brown locks. 

And, fuck, Steve didn’t want to push those images away.

He came hard, gasping and shaking, panting as his skin prickled and pleasure whipped through him. He lay there, eyes screwed shut, cock softening in his hand, just gasping for breath, for a few minutes, trying to deny that he’d just finished to the thought of Thor going down on him. _No,_ he insisted. _It was Maria._

Once he had calmed down, he reached over to his nightstand, finding some tissues and cleaning up his stomach. His pants were fixed, the tissues tossed in the wastebasket, and then Steve turned on his side and sullenly rolled up into a ball, the covers pulled over himself. 

—

Thor, completely unaware of what had happened with Steve the night prior, still wanted to watch Jedi the next evening, but Steve lied and said he wasn’t feeling up to it, that he was going to turn in early. He felt bad for lying, for cancelling his plans because of a desire he couldn’t control, but all Thor did was nod and bid him good night.

Steve was well aware that it was wrong to ruin this start of a friendship because Steve couldn’t control his feelings. After all, Thor had never made an effort to seduce Steve, and even their kiss seemed arguably mutual. He’d really done nothing objectionable, and it was unfair to punish him for it. And so Steve let his guard down. He’d had one dream and a few stray thoughts; from what Tony had told him, questioning one’s sexuality was normal. 

He didn’t have to worry about this.

So the next night, he kicked back, relaxed, sat on the floor and joined Thor in bemoaning the Ewoks. This time, he was the one who threw the kernels when they appeared onscreen, wondering just why Lucas would choose to include the silly things in the movie. Now he understood why Tony said _Jedi_ was the worst one.

And all of this went smoothly, until Steve reached into the popcorn bowl without looking and found Thor’s hand there. A part of him wanted to instinctively jerk back, but that would be rude, so he didn’t, and kept his hand there, paralyzed. Thor didn’t jerk back, either. Instead, he looked at Steve, confused, a flush creeping across his cheeks. Steve could feel his face burning as well, and both of them dropped their gazes.

Whatever mixed-up feelings of attraction Steve had, it was clear now that Thor reciprocated. He withdrew his hand from the bowl, glancing up apologetically at Steve who nervously met his gaze before looking away. The tension between them was nearly unbearable, and Steve knew he had to do something about it or leave. But if he did that, then he was pretty sure things were going to be broken between him and Thor forever.

He turned back to say something, anything, only to see Thor still looking at him, body angled slightly toward him (and a memory of a lesson on body posture came to mind, that people moved their bodies toward the object of the interest without thinking about it). And then, just like before, motivated by curiosity and a desire he didn’t fully understand, caught up in the moment, knowing what was going happen and aware of just how inevitable it felt, certain he would regret this later, Steve leaned forward just as Thor did. Their lips met, just brushing against one another, and Steve could hear Thor shifting his posture on the floor. Suddenly there was urgency in them, as if now that they had confirmed that the other would not move, would not shy away from this they could let loose.

Steve wasn’t sure who parted their lips first, but suddenly Thor’s tongue was in his mouth and Steve was hesitantly exploring Thor’s. He tasted like beer and salt, not the most pleasant combination of flavors, but Steve found that he didn’t care at all. A large hand wound itself in Steve’s hair, tugging at the longer strands, and Steve reciprocated, fingers snaking up to grip the back of Thor’s skull.

Fuck, Steve didn’t want it to end.

He hadn’t been kissed this passionately—felt this _wanted_ —in ages, and the fact that it was Thor, strong, handsome, godly Thor who wanted him only seemed to heighten this elation. But then Thor pulled back, both of them panting and red-faced, and Steve realized just what he had done. He jerked his entire body away from Thor, a distressed, half-garbled protest leaving his throat, his hands tangled in his own hair. And when he stole a glance at Thor, the man looked confused and hurt and humiliated. One large hand snatched the popcorn bowl and then Thor stood and practically fled the room, his shoulders hunched and steps swift.

Steve took a minute to calm down, wishing he could go back five minutes and stop himself from ever reaching into the damn bowl.

He heard the sounds of the movie, distant, abstract, and fuzzy, like he were listening underwater. The sound was irritating, and Steve angrily fumbled for the remote, turning the TV off. 

And then he was alone, in the darkness of the rec room, with only his thoughts for comfort.

He couldn’t do this. Something had to change. If things were this bad when he still saw Thor less than any of the others, then how much worse would it get if they spent more time together. He needed to get away from Thor, from the temptation he provided, and focus on work, focus on the team and what needed to be done. He was their leader, and such...fraternization with his teammates wouldn’t be tolerated. Now that this attraction was out in the air, was acknowledged between them without any extenuating circumstances, Steve didn’t know how to get rid of it. Presumably Thor was ashamed of it as well, judging from how he’d left, and Steve realized he must be feeling just as confused and frustrated as he was.

He’d think of something to do. He’d been in worse situations. There would be a solution to this one. It wouldn’t be easy or comfortable, but there would be one.


	6. Chapter 6

For the next week, Steve avoided Thor like the plague.  
  
He made sure Thor wouldn’t be around whenever he went to eat, or work out, or use the rec room, and when he could, he stuck close to Tony, because Tony and Thor rarelysocialized. He was certain Thor was avoiding him, too, because Clint asked him on the third day if he’d seen Thor, saying that they usually played Gears then and he hadn’t seen him around.  
  
It was sad, to watch Thor become a hermit. Steve couldn’t help but feel responsible. And he was certain that Thor must have also felt somewhat responsible; otherwise, why would he be hiding? He must think I hate him, Steve thought. That’s why he’s trying so hard to stay out of my way.   
  
Steve wondered how they were going to be able to function as a team now. He knew Thor would never shirk his duties, but Steve questioned their ability to work side by side if they couldn’t even eat breakfast together. Steve knew that he could leave. He could ask Fury for a transfer to another team, another division. He could give up his friends here, his leadership, everything he had worked for, but he didn’t want to, not after he’d just gotten a life back together for himself. Feeling sullen, he wanted to ask Thor leave, ask him to just go someone else, perhaps even back to Asgard, because they both knew that Thor had less to lose if he left, but Steve couldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t pin his problems on Thor and make him a scapegoat. Steve was the team’s leader; ultimately, responsibility fell to him and he couldn’t ask Thor to give up his post here because of how Steve felt about him.  
  
It wasn’t fair to ask him to sacrifice again for the sake of Steve’s comfort.  
  
After a lot of thought and agonizing over the choices, Steve decided to ask for a transfer. He went to Phil first, who had gave him a very quizzical look, but hadn’t pried at all, instead telling him that he’d pass Steve’s request along to Fury. Steve liked that about Phil. He knew when to ask questions and when it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.  
  
And then, Steve got a memo calling him down to Fury’s office.  
  
He put on a nice, button-up shirt and a pair of khakis, making sure he did all the buttons on the shirt, because sometimes Fury went easier on him when he remembered just how long Steve had been frozen, remembered just how hard it had been to adjust, to realize everything he’d cared about was gone.  
  
At the end of the day, however, Fury was still his boss, and Steve couldn’t help the nervous flutter in his stomach as he pushed open the doors to Fury’s office.  
  
“You asked to see me, sir?” he said, striding midway in and stopping before Fury’s desk. The man hated paperwork; getting him to sit still long enough to sign something was an achievement. His office, therefore, was hardly used, and always looked impeccable when Steve saw it.   
  
Fury reached over to the edge of his desk and pulled over a manila folder, eyeing Steve. “I got this from Coulson,” he said. “You want a transfer?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Steve, you know I can’t transfer you without a goddamn good reason,” Fury said, tapping the paper. He looked up at Steve, concern on his face. “And there’s nothing in this report about why you want to leave.”  
  
“I know, sir, but I—”  
  
“Don’t call me ‘sir,’” Fury corrected. “Just tell me what the fuck is going on and then we can sort this out.”  
  
Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t. Just write personal reasons or something.”  
  
Fury shook his head. “You are the leader of the team, and you and I both know that without your leadership they’re likely to fall apart. So unless the issue is life-threatening, I can’t let you go.”  
  
“Please, Nick, I need this. I can’t tell you why, but I just...” his voice trailed off, hand idly making circles in the air as he searched for words.  
  
“You need...what? Time off?” Fury finished.  
  
“No.” If Steve took time off, he’d need a lot of time off, and he knew that wasn’t going to happen.  
  
Fury sighed and traced a circle on the folder with his index finger. “Does this have something to do with what happened in Latveria? If there’s something you’re not telling me, Rogers....”  
  
“Nothing happened in Latveria,” Steve reiterated, perhaps a bit too defensively.  
  
“All right,” Fury said, holding up his hand. “If you’re not going to give me a valid reason, there’s no point to continuing this conversation.”  
  
“Nick, please,” Steve didn’t want to beg, but he felt damn close to it. “Just pull some strings for me.”  
  
“I would, Steve, but this goes beyond me. We have investors, and a lot of them want to keep your face out in the public, front and center on this thing.”  
  
Steve’s nostrils flared. He knew those men. Old, white, rich Republicans, who liked the fact that Steve fought with an “A” emblazoned onto his forehead, who liked the fact that his uniform was red, white and blue and his shield bore a star, who liked the fact that Steve was supposed to embody American spirit and justice. The exact kind of men who would rake him over the coals for getting into a relationship with a male comrade.  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“If you come back with some solid reasoning,” Fury paused, inhaling deeply, “I’ll sign it for you. Don’t want to, but if it means that much to you, I’ll sign it.”  
  
“I’ll think about it, sir.” Steve dipped his head. “Thank you.”  
  
Fury acknowledged him with a quick nod, and then Steve had ducked out of his office.  
  


—-

  
When Tony heard the other engineers in the room suddenly fall silent and file out, he knew something was up.  
  
Sighing, he swiveled around on his stool, brows raised in silent inquiry. He left one hand braced on the drafting table, wishing he’d stayed in his workshop that morning instead of coming down to HQ to help out with redesigns.  
  
Fury stood in the doorway, watching as the last little worker ant scurried away before he stepped inside the room, pulling the door shut behind him. “Stark,” he said, and Tony gave a sideways glance at his work as Fury started to walk along the perimeter of the room, stopping at the opposite corner from Tony.  
  
“You need something, Nick?” he asked. “Because I was enjoying hassling my lackeys until you oh so efficiently ran them all off.”  
  
“I do,” he said, leaning against one of the vacant drafting tables and folding his arms over his chest. “Rogers asked for a transfer.”  
  
Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Off the team?”  
  
“Off the team.”  
  
“You’re joking, right?” Tony said, rushed. “This is a joke. ‘Operation: Get back at Stark’ or something. Or some scrub took Steve seriously when he was being sarcastic; they’re not the sharpest tools, that bunch—”  
  
Fury shook his head. “He went to Phil asking about a transfer off the team. And, as his closest...friend, compadre, whatever you call yourself, I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”  
  
Tony shook his head. “I...no. He didn’t talk to me about this; I didn’t even know he spoke to Phil.”  
  
“Has he said anything unusual lately? Not been himself?”  
  
“Jesus, what is this?” Tony snapped. “You sound like some school counselor.”  
  
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m just trying to figure out why he’d want off this team. We can’t afford to lose him. You of all people should know that.”  
  
Tony waved his hands in front of him distractedly. “I don’t know why he would. Aside from feeling a little bad for Thor, he hasn’t done anything unusual.”  
  
“That’s it? Nothing?” Fury leaned forward, as if that would cause Tony to suddenly remember.  
  
“No, nothing.”  
  
They were both silent for a moment, Tony resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward, rubbing his face in his palms. “Are you going to let him off the team?”  
  
Fury snorted. “Not without a damn good reason.”  
  
“Did he tell Phil anything?”  
  
“No. Phil said he wouldn’t say why. ‘Personal reasons’ or some BS.” Fury waved his hand. “It’s Rogers. If he wanted to leave,he’d have a damn good reason, and all this...silence...is what makes me nervous.”  
  
Tony waited a long moment before speaking again. “I’m not going to spy on him for you, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
“You’d be a crappy-ass spy anyway, Stark,” Fury replied. “No, just convince him to stay on the team. Do whatever you have to do. Get him mad, be his friend—whatever. I’m sure you want him around just as much as I do.”  
  
Tony nodded, and Nick unfolded his arms. With a dip of his head, he turned, striding toward the door before Tony could even formulate a question. Tony stared down at his sneakers, tapping the toes against the white tile floor, wracking his brain for any instance of when Steve had been out of it, enough to warrant leaving the Avengers. Nothing came to mind, and Tony was left stymied, frustrated at both Steve’s baffling actions and that he hadn’t talks to him first. Really, what kind of guy would up and ditch his best friend without a word like that? Something had to be wrong.  
  
Biting his lip, Tony swiveled his stool and reached for his phone on the drafting table. With a few flicks of his thumb, he dialed Rhodey, and was hunched over on the drafting table, waiting for him to pick up. His fingers tapped out random patterns while the phone rang once, twice, three times, and then—  
  
“Tony?”  
  
“Hey, Rhodey. Listen, whatever you’re doing, cancel it, and meet me at Nathan’s in half an hour, okay?”  
  


—-

  
With the others, Steve pretended like things were normal.  
  
He chatted with Clint, let Natasha throw him around the ring a few times, and politely conversed with Bruce when they crossed paths. And with Tony, Steve tried extra hard to not let any of his anxieties show. Tony was extremely perceptive when he wanted to be; there wasn’t much he’d been able to keep secret from Tony. When they had first become friends, when Steve had been hit with what would be the first in a long series of waves of nostalgia, Tony had been the one to notice. Tony had been the one to find him his old favorite detective films, been the one to find him old Sinatra records (not CDs, actual records, with a record player), been the one to track down an antique Hershey candy machine and have it restored for Steve.  
  
It was Tony who took him to the World War Two memorial in D.C. It was Tony who stood by him at Bucky’s grave, at Peggy’s grave.  
  
All of these things Tony wrote off as nothing, stating that “It was Pepper’s idea,” but Steve knew it was just because Tony didn’t want to seem like he cared. In a way, it bothered him, because he wanted Tony to know just how much these things meant to him, but he supposed that Tony must already have been aware of it.  
  
He hoped they would still be friends if Steve ended up elsewhere, and Steve prayed for his sake that Tony kept focusing on his projects and work and not his best friend.  
  
Steve still didn’t want to go anywhere else. He liked his team. He liked Clint and Natasha and Bruce, he liked Tony, and he had started to like Thor until this...attraction had taken over. The possibility of confessing it to Fury was out of the question. He just wanted it gone, just wanted to cut it out like some tumor or growth and be done with it.  
  
Maybe all he needed was more time. More time away from Thor, a few normal interactions with him, preferably something where the whole team was involved, where Steve would be focused more on leadership than on Thor.   
  
He sighed, turning another page in his sketchbook. Every time he touched his pencil or charcoal to paper, whatever resulted felt stiff, contained, lifeless. Once, when he’d been bored and indulged himself, he had sketched Thor from memory, smiling, eyes crinkling up in the corners, trying to capture his lightheartedness and confidence. And of course that had been loose and lifelike, right up until Steve ripped it from his sketchbook and tossed it in the wastebasket.  
  
Steve resigned himself to figure studies, curled up at his desk, googling some photos for reference on the laptop Tony had bought him. He was midway through his fifth one, trying to keep his lines light and fluid, when someone knocked on his door frame. Steve wasn’t aware he had left the door open, and he whipped around, startled.  
  
“Hey,” Tony said, standing there. He was leaning to one side, weight on one foot, his casualness so perfect Steve would swear it was staged.   
  
“Hey,” Steve returned, smiling slightly. It always came as a bit of an ego boost when Tony came to see him, when the billionaire genius wanted to hang out with Steve Rogers of all people.  
  
“Can we talk for a minute?”  
  
The gravity of Tony’s tone wiped the smile from Steve’s face. When Tony was serious, things were bad, because normally he dealt with stress, with anxiety, or a bad situation through humor. That he didn’t even have it in him to crack a joke alarmed Steve.  
  
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” Steve asked, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
Tony stepped inside without being prompted, pulling the door shut behind him. He shuffled across Steve’s carpet, sitting on the edge of his bed, facing the desk. With a sigh, he hunched forward, one fist tapping lightly at his mouth for a moment before he spoke.  
  
“Are you transferring?” Tony said. There was no preamble, no beating around the bush. Tony had come here to ask just that, and he did.  
  
Steve swallowed thickly, setting his pencil down on his sketchbook. “Tony, I—”  
  
“Just answer me before you start ‘Tony-ing.’ Are you transferring?”  
  
There wasn’t any sense lying to him about that. “I applied for one, yes.”  
  
“Okay,” Tony said, leaning back. His tone was curt and cold, and Steve knew he was hurt, knew he was upset that he hadn’t come to him to talk about this at all.  
  
“Tony, don’t get mad.”  
  
“I’m not mad,” he corrected. “Okay, I am. But I’m not hear to read you the riot act for it. I just want to know why. You didn’t breathe a word about this to me or to anyone else, and then I get a call from Fury asking me why on God’s green earth you want off this team.”  
  
“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it. I just....” He turned away, unable to meet Tony’s stare.  
  
“Did something happen, Steve? Do you not like it here anymore?”  
  
“It’s not that. I just need to clear my head, and I thought time off the team would help me do that.”  
  
Tony shook his head. “You asked for a transfer, like you didn’t want to come back, not for time off. That’s a big fucking difference, Steve. If you want a vacation, take a vacation.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Did something happen in Latveria? Something you aren’t telling me?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Tony didn’t believe him. He could see it in Tony’s dark brown eyes, in how they narrowed as he calculated, trying to read into Steve’s answer.  
  
“Is this about Thor? You came back from Latveria after being cooped up with him and then you started asking all about him. He fucking did something, didn’t he?”  
  
“Tony, for Christ’s sake, I’m not some helpless little girl,” Steve snapped. “Thor didn’t do anything. I wanted a transfer for my own reasons. It had nothing to do with him.”  
  
Tony’s mouth drew into a thin line.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this. I really am. But just...drop it, because I’m not leaving the team.”  
  
“Then what’s going on, Steve?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Tony sighed temperamentally. “How can I not worry about it? This team means so much to you—meant so much to you—and now you just want to up and leave?”  
  
“I said drop it, Tony.”  
  
“All right, fine,” Tony snapped, throwing up his hands in angry defeat. “I will.” He turned, heading towards the door, Steve watching him go, nails digging into the back of his chair.  
  
At the doorway, he stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll be around, if you want to talk. I just wish you’d be honest with me.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve repeated.  
  
Tony shook his head sadly and pulled open the door. He stepped out and shut it behind him, and Steve turned back to his sketchbook. The pencil was retrieved, and Steve stared at the page, unable to concentrate, merely tapping it on the paper until he shut the book in frustration.  
  


—-

  
Tony, however, couldn’t stop worrying about it.  
  
He knew there was something Steve wasn’t telling him, and normally he respected a man’s privacy, but when Steve had asked to leave the team, the reason was something Tony felt he should be privy to. And the fact that Steve hadn’t even spoken to him about this hurt. Tony wasn’t one to let his feelings get in the way, especially in matters like this, but when it came to Steve, and the team, Tony had to trust his gut.  
  
And his gut was telling him that all was not okay.   
  
Steve had been fine before he’d been captured. Tony had figured that Steve had been a bit shaken up, but no worse for the wear when he returned, but perhaps that assumption had been off. Deep down, Tony resented the fact that it had taken so long to find them, that he hadn’t been able to whip up a solution the way he always did, and a tiny part of him felt...responsible for whatever was going on with Steve.  
  
But a much larger part of him blamed Thor. Thor had either done something or let something happen to Steve, through ignorance or possibly malice (although Tony doubted the latter). That had to be it.  
  
Tony spent the rest of the afternoon mulling it over, his thoughts weighing on him even as he tried to get work done. They wouldn’t stop bouncing around in his head even when he quit, continuing to nag at him until he finally gave up and decided to turn in. Steve was their leader, and without him this team wouldn’t be the same, not even close. They couldn’t afford to lose him, and if Thor was the problem....  
  
And so, when Tony saw Thor the next morning walking down the hall toward the kitchen, he knew he had to confront him. Thor was much easier to read than Steve was; Tony had never been convinced that there was all that much going on in his head.  
  
Thor was shuffling down the hall, barefoot, clad in only a pair of red plaid flannel pants, sleepily rubbing one eye. It was early; Tony had spent a good portion of the night awake before deciding to just give up at around five, dragging himself out of bed to go find some coffee and do a bit of drafting, and he’d come up to refill his mug.  
  
He smiled upon seeing Tony, as if nothing were wrong, as if he had done nothing wrong, and Tony felt a flare of resentment in his chest. “Good morning, Star—”  
  
“What the fuck did you do?” Tony said flatly, his fingers tightening on the handle of his black mug. He was tired, their leader—his close friend—wanted to leave them; Tony didn’t give a good goddamn about social graces right now.  
  
Thor looked taken aback, the smile on his face quickly replaced by confusion. “I don’t understand—”  
  
“What. The fuck. Did you do?” Tony repeated, emphasizing each word.  
  
“What do you mean?” Thor said, and he took a step back from Tony, although they both were aware that Thor could easily overpower him.  
  
“Don’t fucking beat around the bush,” he snapped. “Latveria. Steve. You did something.”  
  
Thor’s brow furrowed further in confusion. “Are you implying that I...hurt Rogers?”  
  
“That or you fucking let him get hurt. What’d you do, throw him under the bus? Let your brother mess with him?”  
  
“I did nothing like that,” Thor said quietly, and his face seemed...pinched. Tony could sense the anger he was trying to contain.  
  
“Oh, like hell you didn’t. You get on your goddamn soapbox all the time about ‘nobility’ and ‘honor’ yet I know you would sacrifice any of us if it meant you could flit back off to Asgard with your psychopath of a brother by your side.”  
  
“Loki is not—” Thor stopped himself, teeth gritted together. “Do not accuse me of such a thing, Stark. I would never do anything like that.”  
  
Tony snorted. “Sure thing, big guy. Keep telling yourself that. But if that’s true, then what the hell happened to Steve to make him want to quit? Whatever it is, I know it had something to do with you.”  
  
All of the anger melted from Thor’s face, replaced by shock and...remorse. He stared down at the floor, unable to defiantly meet Tony’s gaze like he had before. Tony couldn’t help the little thrill he got from seeing Thor off-balance. “The Captain...wishes to leave our team?”  
  
“What, you didn’t know?” Tony scoffed. “He went to Coulson and Fury asking about a transfer. Wouldn’t give a reason as to why he wanted it, but he according to them he wanted off the team pretty damn bad.”  
  
“I...I had no idea.”  
  
“Sure you didn’t,” Tony snapped.  
  
“I swear to you, Stark, I had no idea—”  
  
“Bullshit! Do you think for one minute that if Steve had been taken with any one of the rest of us that he would be this way now? Something happened, I can read it in your face. If you didn’t do anything, you wouldn’t look so goddamn guilty.”  
  
Thor looked shocked and then his eyes flitted away again, unable to hold Tony’s gaze for longer than a few seconds.  And that—that right there—proved Tony right.  
  
“Just fuck you,” Tony said, angry, angrier than he’d been in a long, long time. “Fuck you and your goddamn brother and everyone who ever taught you it’s okay to sacrifice your teammates to save your own ass. You were the one who had the hardest time following his orders. You were the one who always challenged him. So, what, is this your attempt to kick him out so you can take over? Is your ego so big that you have to have everything? This is the only thing that’s mattered to Steve since he woke up, so you have to ruin it for him?”  
  
Panting slightly after his rant, Tony would have felt better if Thor reacted with anger. Hell, if he even took a swing at him or something. But Thor just...withdrew. Shut down. His face went blank, eyes downcast, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “It was never my intention to hurt Captain Rogers. Nor do I wish to keep doing so. If my presence causes him distress...I need not stay here.”  
  
“Good,” Tony said harshly. “He deserves better than that.”  
  
Thor met his eyes for a moment before he turned away. “Yes, he does.”  
  


—-

  
Thor couldn’t shake what Tony had said.  
  
The fact that Steve had asked for a transfer off of their team had blindsided Thor. He couldn’t imagine Steve, who treasured this team above almost everything else, who valued its members, who believed in what they stood for, willingly wanting to give it up. Steve had said so himself.  
  
“I’ll probably be doing this until they force me out,” he’d said.   
  
Thor knew he was responsible. He knew whatever perverted attraction he had toward Steve--and he had to finally admit that he was indeed attracted to him--made him uncomfortable, apparently enough so that Steve wanted to leave the team. It wasn’t fair to Steve, to force him out because Thor couldn’t control his desire, especially because this team meant so much to Steve.   
  
It was simple. Thor would quit. He’d find some other initiative to work for. He had to. Stark was right. Steve deserved better. He put in so much time and effort to keep them together, to keep them strong—Thor couldn’t have him giving up all that work. And perhaps with him out of the pciture, Loki would quickly lose interest in Midgard, and then Thor could leave for good, could leave Steve in peace, a peace he certainly deserved.   
  
He spent most of the day holed up in his room, running through different scenarios of how this conversation would unfold. Breakfast and lunch were quickly forgotten, Thor too engrossed with planning out word for word what he would say to Steve to be bothered to eat. They weren’t missed, anyway; Thor found himself too nervous to be hungry.  
  
Words had always been Loki’s forte. Thor’s strengths lay far outside diplomacy, and he knew he wasn’t one for eloquence. Don’t worry, Brother, you’ll have a speechwriter when you’re king, Loki had always told him, with that smirk on his face. Thor wished he had one now, one who could simply hand him a sheet with what to say printed on it.  
  
But he couldn’t let the issue sit any longer.  
  
Thor considered sending Steve a text message asking him to meet, but Clint had told him such things could be viewed as impersonal if the matter was important. He reasoned that it would be best to do this entire thing in person, to let Steve know he was sincere.  
  
After dinner he crept downstairs, finding the kitchen mercifully deserted. J.A.R.V.I.S., the unbiased entity that he was, when asked, quickly told Thor that Steve was down in the gym. Thor thanked him, despite being told numerous times that he didn’t have to, and then headed off.  
  
Steve was running on a treadmill when Thor got down there, a pair of earbuds in, his iPod resting on the treadmill’s control panel. He tilted his head as Thor approached, pulling one of the buds out when it was apparent that Thor wanted to speak to him.  
  
“Steve, I...” Thor began, trying to string his words together. “I wish to speak with you. Alone.” He looked around the room, hinting that this was not the appropriate setting for what he wished to discuss, and Steve nodded, having picked up on that.  
  
“Can you give me an hour to finish here and get cleaned up?”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
“Your floor?”  
  
Thor nodded. Steve gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment before popping the bud back in, and Thor left the gym, a heavy, unsettling knot forming in his stomach.  
  


—-

  
Steve knew why Thor wanted to talk.  
  
Well, he didn’t know for certain, but he was fairly sure he had figured out why. Part of him didn’t want to go, wanted to feign exhaustion and tell Thor they’d talk tomorrow, just keep putting it off and avoiding him, but how long could he really sweep this under the rug?  
  
No, he had to do this quick, now, like ripping off a Band-Aid.  
  
He showered, dressed, and stumbled up the stairs, waiting outside Thor’s apartment for a long minute before knocking.Steve realized he’d never set foot on Thor’s floor.  
  
He snorted in amusement to himself, wondering what it would be like, conjuring up fantastical images of a great banquet hall with long wooden tables and gold dishes, fur-covered couches and drinking horns, perhaps even a bevy of scantily-clad serving girls.   
  
Forcing himself to regain his composure, reminded of the serious matter-at-hand, Steve knocked.  
  
“Come in.”  
  
Slowly, Steve pushed the door open, stepping inside and taking a moment to look around the room again as he pulled the door shut behind him. He was met with what could have been a model unit at any apartment complex. Nondescript brown leather couch, a few bookshelves, an armchair, a small, neat kitchen—none of it was out of place.  
  
None of it looked like it had even been used.  
  
“You wanted to talk to me?”  
  
Thor sat on his couch, settled on one end, as far from Steve as he could be, his posture stiff and upright, one hand curled around the arm of the couch. He took a deep breath and nodded. “I have heard rumors that you wish to leave our team.” Thor looked up at him, eyes dark and shadowed.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Thor’s expression fell. “I am fairly sure that I am the cause of this, Steve Rogers, and that the…events…that transpired between us may be to blame. Is that true?”  
  
“Yes....” Steve didn’t feel right pinning all, or even most of the blame on Thor.  
  
Thor winced. Steve frowned at his apparently inability to articulate.  
  
“I am sorry, then. I have no desire to see you leave your team and your friends, especially over me, and I would be sorry to see you go as well.” Thor twisted his hands together; Steve could easily see that he was nervous. He hadn’t made eye contact since Steve had told him this was because of what had gone on between them. He felt bad for Thor, who was baring himself here, laying everything out for Steve’s judgment, and doing it earnestly and honestly. “I…I enjoy your company, Steve, and I am sorry that my presence makes you uncomfortable.”  
  
His words were bitter and disappointed. I’m sorry, too, Thor, Steve thought. I’m sorry I can’t get you out of my head, but it’s better this way, maybe you can’t see it, but it is, you just have to trust me….  
  
Thor cleared his throat. “My intention for speaking with you tonight was to propose an alternative to your departure,” he said, his voice hollow and sad. “I can either return to Asgard, or have myself transferred—”  
  
“No, Thor.”  
  
“Why not?” The question was genuine. “If it is my presence that upsets you, why should I not leave? This is your home, Stark and others are your friends—”  
  
“They’re your friends too, Thor.”   
  
Thor frowned, brows furrowing. “Yes, but you are their leader, Steve. Besides, you've said once before that you wouldn't feel right giving this up. Is doing so now any different? And you've already pointed out—rightfully so—that I could do much good even if I didn't fight by your side.”  
  
Steve dropped his hands from his temples. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you do that.”  
  
“What choice to we have?” Thor asked honestly.  
  
“I don’t know.” Steve closed his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly.  
  
They both fell silent, each painfully aware of the roles they had each played coming to this point. “Is there really no way to fix this?” Thor asked quietly. “I find myself greatly enjoying your company and friendship, and I would not cast them aside so easily if there was a way to salvage them.”  
  
Steve sank onto the other end of the sofa. He didn’t want to keep looking down at Thor. “I don’t even know how we would begin to fix this.”  
  
Thor nodded sadly. “I am sorry that my actions have led us here.”  
  
“That’s not....” Steve swallowed thickly, unsure of whether he should say the rest of his thought. “I think we both know that you’re not the only cause of this. You haven’t acted alone.” Growing up, he’d always heard how the truth would set you free. What a crock.  
  
“My attentions were unwanted,” he said simply.   
  
“Not entirely,” Steve muttered.  
  
“You have run and hid in shame each time.” Thor shrugged. “I was beginning to think I had forced you.”  
  
“Forced? What? God, no. That...Jesus, did I really give you that impression? I’m sorry.”  
  
“That is a relief to know.” Thor inclined his head toward Steve. “I will speak to Fury in the morning.”  
  
“Thor, no. I already said I can’t let you do that.”  
  
“And I have said we have no choice. Our conversation goes in circles. If we both stay, something will happen again. We both know this. So it’s best that one of us goes, and that one should be me.”  
  
Pausing before he replied, Steve regarded the other man. “Are you certain that something would happen again?”  
  
There was a long silence before Thor responded. “I have never felt this way for another man before,” he said. “Though I might wish to deny it, I cannot.”  
  
“And you couldn’t, I don’t know, find somebody?” Steve asked awkwardly.  
  
Surprisingly, Thor favored him with a wry grin. “I find my attraction is more than skin deep. ‘Finding somebody’ would do me little good.”  
  
“No kidding,” Steve muttered, remembering his failed attempt to picture Maria in his fantasy instead of Thor.  
  
Sitting up, Thor fixed him with a sharp gaze. “Be honest with me, Steve, please. Do you really feel an attraction toward me?”  
  
Steve sighed, giving up any pretense of getting out of here with his dignity intact. “Yes,” he said simply. “I wish I didn’t, but yes.”  
  
“And is shame the only thing keeping you from acting on it?”  
  
“Isn’t that enough?” Steve’s brows rose in disbelief.  
  
“Possibly, but I’ve already acted on my desires, wrong though they may be. If we cannot agree on who should go, and cannot work and live together with it hanging over our heads, then why should we not acknowledge it, at least between the two of us.”  
  
Sagging back into the couch, Steve sucked in a shocked breath. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
“Why not?” Thor challenged him. “Don’t think I speak from ignorance. Something like this,” he waved his hand in the air, indicating the two of them, “if indeed there is something, is not done in Asgard.” He paused, tilting thoughtfully. “No, that’s not true. It is, but it’s rarely spoken of, and when it is...it is only to shame or humiliate someone.”  
  
“Oh, I understand. It’s better here now, but that’s recent. When I was growing up...” Steve laughed bitterly, little humor in the sound. “Yeah, not an idea I would have willingly entertained.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“Now?” Steve heaved a deep breath. “I like being honest. I can’t lie to myself—and you—and say that I don’t feel the way I do.”  
  
“What do you want to do about it?”  
  
Steve shied away from the question, not quite ready to entertain. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”  
  
Thor met Steve’s gaze steadily. “I think, Steve,” he said slowly, stressing the name, “that I have found few people in my life as good and as worthy as you. I...” he faltered briefly before visibly gathering himself and going on. “I want to be with you, but not at the cost of our friendship. To have you...regret us, or worse, hate me for it, would be unbearable. I would rather leave before that came to pass.”  
  
Steve looked down at his feet for a very long time. Thor was offering him a way out, a way to keep both of them on the team, a way for Steve to maybe work this out of his system. But the risk, the potential cost, could be astronomical. “If we do this, we can’t let anyone know, you know that, right?”  
  
“People would not approve,” Thor agreed  
  
“No. No, they would not. Things are better, but not that much better. We would have to be a...a secret.” Steve’s stomach churned slightly at the thought of keeping this hidden, as if they were ashamed of themselves, of each other, which, he supposed, they were. But still....  
  
Callused fingertips brushed the back of his hand and he looked up at Thor. He hadn’t even heard or felt him slide over so that they were next to each other. “I do not want to be a secret, not something dark and wrong to be afraid of,” Thor said slowly. “I have never wanted to do something I am ashamed of. But is this were merely something private, just between us, just for us...that I could live with.”  
  
At last, Steve swallowed thickly, his hand turning over to fit against Thor’s, entwining their fingers together. Hand and hand, into the crucible.  
  
“I…I’d like to try.”  
  
Thor smiled, finally looking at ease after a week of worry and tension, and Steve felt his heart twist a little. They sat on Thor’s couch, hands still locked together, Steve exploring Thor’s palm with his fingertips, finally allowing himself to truly take in the man at his side, at what he had just agreed to would mean. Thor’s hand was rough and warm beneath his, and big, a bit bigger than Steve’s own, and it was the complete and utter opposite to any girl’s hand he had ever held or seen, not narrow and delicate and pretty, but large and square and rugged.  
  
Thor shifted next to him, and Steve looked up at him, their eyes meeting for a long second. Thor’s lips were slightly parted, his eyes darting about Steve’s face, and Steve slowly reached a hand out and touched the side of Thor’s cheek, skimming over his cheekbone. His beard was soft, his skin smooth, and Steve swiped his thumb over the skin beneath Thor’s eye, watching as Thor’s eyelids fell slightly.  
  
He didn’t object when Steve leaned closer, instead moving towards him, until their lips met in a fumbling, awkward kiss, different from their others, not a product of stressful situations or confused and shameful lust. It stayed almost chaste for a moment, until Thor pushed back against Steve, his own hand seeking purchase on Steve’s waist. Thick fingers twisted in his T-shirt, and then a tongue flicked against his lips and Steve let his mouth go slack, Thor’s tongue meeting his as their kiss deepened. It was like that night watching Jedi all over again, except now Thor didn’t taste like beer and Steve felt a hundred times better knowing that they both wanted this.  
  
Thor’s hand pushed his shirt up, rough fingers skimming over his stomach and sides, but never venturing higher or lower, just gently touching and tracing while Thor kissed him. Steve shifted his hands, pulling them from Thor’s waist to rest on his upper arms, feeling the muscles there shift and flex as Thor explored Steve’s torso. Eventually they broke their kiss, Thor’s lips hovering over Steve’s jaw before very, very lightly biting at his neck.  
  
“No marks,” Steve reminded, and Thor chuckled into his skin.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Thor was surprisingly affectionate, contentedly sighing into Steve’s skin from time to time as he kissed his throat and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, pressing his lips to Steve’s ear at one point, his hand daring to venture up to Steve’s solar plexus once. Steve had expected him to be rough, brutish, to fuck like he fought, but instead Thor was shockingly tender.  
  
Steve let him nuzzle and kiss and explore, until the desire to touch and tease in return outweighed the novelty of being caressed, and then Steve squeezed Thor’s arm, getting him to let up. Thor groaned softly when Steve held him in place, one hand firmly rooted in his hair, the other resting at the small of Thor’s back, under his T-shirt, finding his skin warm and soft and smooth. Steve nuzzled into Thor’s neck, licking a stripe up to his Adam’s apple and savoring the resulting hiss, the hand on Thor’s back boldly snaking upwards, high enough to skim over Thor’s pectoral, stopping to hesitantly pinch and tease his nipple, unsure if the action was welcome until Thor drew a ragged breath.  
  
He liked this, the warm touching and kissing, but the couch wasn’t designed for two men of their stature to make out like this, and eventually they shifted apart. “I should,” Steve began and then had to shake his head slightly. “I should...go. Probably. If we don’t want the others to find out.”  
  
Thor nodded, drawing away reluctantly, allowing Steve to stand up. He straightened his clothes, ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t deny that he was grateful for the reprieve. Neither of them had experience with another man—how different would sex be between them? Steve wondered, feeling his face heat as soon as the thought popped into his head.   
  
He figured Thor might feel the same way, if the slightly relieved expression he saw on his face was any indication. It seemed Thor had no expectations of him, at least not right now. There was no need to rush, Steve realized. Whatever this was, they had started it together, and they would go through it together.  
  
Thor walked him to the door to the stairs, Steve feeling unaccountably like he was being escorted to his front door after a date. He turned and found he didn’t know what to say. So instead he leaned forward, brushed his lips over Thor’s and bolted for the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long, long hiatus, I return. For those of you who may or may not have been wondering why I fell off the earth, I'm incredibly busy with a job, school, and 3 student orgs. This chapter has been rewritten about five times; all of the props go to Moiraine for beta'ing this 19k monster. Her patience is astounding, guys.

“For the last time, Laufeyson, _no._ ”

 

Loki traced his fingers around the lip of his goblet, still leaning back in his chair, parallel to the table. “Amora, be reasonable.” He eyed the full platters at the center of the table, laden with fruit, bread, and cuts of meat, debating between a fistful of grapes or a persimmon.

 

“I am,” she scoffed, glaring over her shoulder from where she stood near the balcony. “You’re the one asking for my help getting revenge on some mortal who beat you at your own game.”

 

“He isn’t simply ‘some mortal,’” Loki muttered, staring down at the red liquid pooled in his glass. Amora didn’t seem to hear him, however, so he sighed, grasped the glass in long fingers and tilted it, watching the liquid seek its own level once more. “I’m simply asking a favor,” he said, using his other hand to gesticulate, rolling it in a circle. “One that I will _gladly_ repay one day.”

 

“Your words are like dwarven gold, Loki,” she said. “They come with a price the recipient rarely wants to pay. You know all about that, don’t you, Scar-Lip?”

 

Loki sullenly shifted forward, hunching over the table, protecting his goblet like a child. There was silence between them, Amora staring out her balcony, Loki tracing the woodgrain with his eyes. “What if,” he began, fingers now wrapped around the thin stem of his goblet, “what if I could give you Thor? The crown prince of Asgard, yours, to do with as you please?”

 

She scoffed, not even bothering to give him the courtesy of a glance this time. “That will be the day,” she chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. “If you ever bested Thor, we both know you wouldn’t give him to _me._ ”

 

Loki curled up further around his goblet, tugging it closer. There was a long pause between them, Loki slowly running his thumb up and down the stem, between the neck and the flared base, curling his other arm on the table before resting his chin on it. “No one else in the Nine Realms will have me,” Loki murmured sadly. He knew just how much humility and pain to put in his voice to swing Amora over, to make her believe that he was truly at a loss without her help. Now the trap was baited; he just had to wait to see if she would fall into it.

 

Skeptically, she peered at him from over her shoulder, and Loki flicked his gaze up, pursing his lips together. “You’ve burned a lot of bridges, Laufeyson,” she said. “Not just Asgard, but Skurge, Malekith, Thanos...”

 

“Karnilla,” Loki added. He would admit his failures if they could better serve him.

 

Amora’s brow arched in surprise at that name. She turned to face him, approaching the long table, drawing her chair out once more before gracefully sliding into it, her green dress a shimmer around her. “Have you considered going outside the realms?” she asked, reaching for an apple on the loaded plates before them.

 

“Outside of the realms?” Loki picked his head up.

 

She nodded, turning the apple over in her hands, searching for flaws that weren’t there. “There are forces far more powerful than either of us--than even Odin Allfather himself--in the dimensions beyond ours.”

 

Loki set his jaw. He didn’t like to be reminded that _Odin Allfather_ was more powerful than himself, that he sat upon a throne that should rightfully belong to Loki. Odin was a liar, a facade holding up a kingdom built on hypocrisy and delusions. “Such as?”

 

Amora bit into the apple. “The Dread Lord. Or the Many-Angled Ones.”

 

“And how would I...summon them?”

 

She laughed out loud, the juice running down her chin. Daintily, once she had recomposed herself, she wiped it from her chin with the back of her hand, Loki glowering at her the whole time. “It is not for you to summon _them,_ ” she corrected. “Rather, you must go to them, and beg and grovel for the help you seek.”

 

“I do not beg,” Loki spat. “And I kneel to no one.”

 

“Then you shall not get the help you seek.” She took another bite. “A little humility would do you well, especially if it earned you what you so crave.”

 

Loki sneered and put his head back down. “I will think on it,” he muttered, bitter and resigned. It was humiliating enough to be here, asking for Amora’s help; now she was sending him to grovel before others? _Curse all of this,_ Loki thought. _Curse this whole damned thing._

 

\---

 

Steve crept back to his rooms at three that morning.

 

He tried to move as silently as he could, which was hard, considering how big and solid he was, but he knew that if he were caught leaving Thor’s rooms, questions would already be raised. _This is how it’s going to be,_ Steve thought. He didn’t like the idea of creeping around the tower, of keeping such a secret from Tony, from _everyone,_ but if they were going to do this, this was how it had to be.

 

When he tiptoed past the elevator, he knew he was safe because anyone who came out now would assume he was just coming back from there. Sighing, he shuffled the last twenty feet back to his apartment, pushing the door open and slipping inside. His bed was soft and cold, especially after having laid next to Thor. Steve curled up—alone—and pulled his sheets over his body.

 

As he laid there, unable to fall asleep, he felt something settle in his bones, something ominous and dreadful. He didn’t think he could handle the humiliation of being found out, of being caught in a _homosexual relationship_ with his _teammate._

 

Back when he had been in the army, Steve had known a private named Roy Williams. He was nice, a bit shy, a bit nebbish, but Steve liked him regardless. And then one night he had been found sneaking around with another man, and just like that, they were gone, both dishonorably discharged. There had been jokes when someone had found out the truth of why Roy was gone, slurs like “queer” and “fag” tossed around, though Steve had snapped at any man who used such language around him.

 

Would he end up just like Roy?

 

No, not quite, he knew. There’d be a media circus following him if this ever came to light. He was Captain America, a stars and stripes wearing celebrity, and the press would just have a field day with such a revelation. It would be a nightmare to go through.  He and Thor had only just begun this, but Steve wondered if they should stop now, should quit it before either of them got too attached.

 

But they would have to be very, very careful.

 

The lingering worry settled in the pit of his stomach. He tried to chase it away, to beat it down with reassurances that they _would_ be careful, but Steve knew that he could never account for every possibility, that something could always go wrong. For a short while he distracted himself with the memory of how warm and solid and comforting Thor had been at his side, but that respite was drowned out by snarling thoughts of how Steve should have been ashamed for what he had done.

 

 _You shouldn’t have liked it,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _How he touched you. How you touched him._ Steve rolled over, burying his head in the pillow, willing the voice to shut up and himself to go to sleep.

 

Morning arrived too soon, and by the time Steve had truly _woken up_ he was half an hour into his typical workout. He was still bogged down with thoughts of Roy and of what the others would think if they found out, of how they would react, and he only shook them once he hit a treadmill and completely zoned out, focusing only on his steps and the distance he’d covered.

 

And then, after a light breakfast (he stuffed a PowerBar into his pocket for later), Steve wandered down to find Phil. He wanted to clear up this transfer business, retract whatever paperwork had gone through, and just wipe the whole affair from everyone’s minds. Maybe then Tony would stop pitching such a fit, he reasoned.

 

Phil was out on a coffee break, but he came back to his office when he caught sight of Steve. “Captain Rogers,” he said, inclining his head slightly in a greeting as he stepped back behind his desk, setting his coffee neatly near the corner.

 

“Agent Coulson,” Steve said, polite as always, folding his arms behind his back. “I, ah, wanted to retract all that paperwork you did on a transfer.” After a second, he added, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“You want to...retract it?”

 

“If that’s possible, yes.”

 

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Something change?”

 

Steve shook his head slightly. “I...I’m sorry for filing it. I was going through some things—a crisis of faith, I guess—and I didn’t think I’d be able to function leading the team.” He paused to sigh. “I’ve sorted it out now, and I’d rather we just put this behind us, if it’s possible.”

 

There was a long second before Phil nodded, eyes flitting down to his coffee cup. “I can get the papers back from Fury.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve replied. He made a mental note to buy Phil a little something for his efforts, a gift card to Starbucks or whatnot. Phil gave him an expectant look, not rude but just wondering if there was anything else Steve needed. “Thanks again,” Steve murmured, giving him a quick nod and then brushing his hair back as he started to step towards the door.

 

“Anytime, Captain.”

 

—-

 

Thor approached the turn of events with mixed feelings.

 

It felt good to finally acknowledge what was between them, and better even to know that Steve returned his feelings. There was a certain anxiety about this relationship beside its newness, one that came with the unknown, and an eagerness to define and conquer that mystery. Thor had never been with another man, never carried on a relationship like this, and these things did give him pause. But every time he thought of Steve, of how Steve smiled or how he felt when Steve kissed him, that fear melted, replaced entirely by excitement and desire.

 

He knew that men in Asgard did this, took lovers by cover of darkness to avoid the shame that would be brought upon them if they were to be exposed. Thor had always pitied such men and the life they had chosen, had always wished that there would be some kind of solution for them, that they would no longer have to hide, and Thor knew now that it had been a condescending pity, for he had never imagined himself in their stead.

 

But back then, he had not known Steve Rogers.

 

When Thor thought of Steve, there was a strange sort of pride that filled him. He had always thought Steve capable, had admired his leadership many a time, and had come to respect him as an equal. And that pride stemmed from the fact that Steve had picked him, had decided to try this new and frightening thing with him. There was a part of Thor that wanted the rest of the world--the rest of the _realms_ \--to know of them, if only just so that Thor could show others just how proud he was to have Steve at his side.

 

But he knew Steve would never agree to that, not now, possibly never. Deep down, Thor was certain that such an announcement would end disastrously for them both, and it was with reluctance that he accepted their mutual agreement of secrecy. He hoped that someday Steve would be comfortable enough to let his guard down a bit, to let their friends see what they had. Keeping it private would not be a hardship, but to keep it hidden forever? He frowned and shook his head. No, Steve would come around eventually, once he found that there was nothing to be afraid of, that there was no reason to fret the way he did. For now, he would simply take each day as it came, and worry about other issues as they came.

 

\---

 

Thor liked _Indiana Jones_ almost more than he did Star Wars.

 

The culture of Earth fascinated him, along with its history, more than the fantastical tales it concocted. Humanity changed so _fast_ , especially in comparison to the rest of the realms. The Asgard of Thor’s boyhood was the same as it was now, but for Earth, life changed so quickly and drastically that the life of a grandparent was foreign to their grandchild. Back when he had first arrived, he’d spent most of his free time reading history books, watching documentaries on the television, trying to catalogue just what had gone on in the centuries he’d missed on Earth. To this day, the History Channel (or “Hitler Channel,” as Tony dubbed it) remained one of his favorites.

 

And so, when _Indiana Jones_ followed the eponymous hero through World War Two, fighting Nazis on a quest to find the Ark of the Covenant, Thor watched with rapt attention, even though it was late, later than they usually watched films. He could see Steve tense up at certain parts, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and he knew that such a film, such a context, must be different for him. Steve had lived and _fought_ in this war, the worst his world had seen. It was the war that had cost him his best friend, the woman he had loved, and seventy years of a life he should have lived, and here it was being offered up as entertainment, something for people to take amusement in.

 

Thor almost offered to turn the film off and pick something else, but he wondered if Steve would take such an offer the wrong way, if he would think that Thor found him weak. Steve was much concerned with how others viewed him, like Thor himself had once been, and while weak was truly the _last_ thing he would ever think of Steve--their captain was strong-willed, capable, and above all, he seemed to simply _endure,_ regardless of what task, obstacle or hindrance was placed upon him--he did not want to provide a path for Steve to have any doubt about himself. So instead, he kept silent, choosing instead to shift or get a drink to distract Steve from the parts that seemed most distressing to him.

 

When the film finished, some of the rigidity eased from Steve, and he quickly set about distracting himself with retrieving the film. Thor let him go, instead gathering up their cans and setting them in neat rows on the coffee table. Deciding he’d given Steve enough time to dither, Thor stood up, approaching Steve, who remained fixated on snapping their disc back into its case, and when Steve took a moment too long to look at him, Thor reached for his wrist and pulled it down.

 

Steve finally looked up, and Thor tilted his head forward, moving in, his intent clear. He didn’t know if any intimacy would be welcome, especially after how distant Steve had seemed during the film, but Thor would not be content to simply wait forever for Steve to make a move. After a second, Steve gave a small nod, and Thor looked past him, giving a quick glance to make sure no one was in the doorway or the hall, and then leaned in for a kiss. It was small, fast, more of a reassurance than anything else, and when they parted Thor didn’t immediately pull his head back, instead lingering close to Steve, feeling his breath warm on his skin, enjoying the simple closeness.

 

He would have happily tried for more, but Steve was still too skittish. So after pressing one last goodnight kiss to Steve’s cheek, Thor gathered their things from the coffee table and slipped off to the kitchen.

 

\---

 

Steve caught Thor on his way out the next morning.

 

He was cutting through the kitchen, on his way down for a Friday morning workout, when he saw Thor rearranging items in a duffel bag in the hall. He was crouched, wearing a gray athletic shirt that hugged his muscles, and for a long second Steve was distracted by the flow of his broad shoulders into narrow hips.

 

“Where are you off to?” he asked, bemused, walking around Thor to peek into the duffel bag.

 

“Barton has invited me to go shoot with him. He has a private range he goes to to get away from Stark,” Thor explained, and as Steve looked into the bag he realized the contents were archery gear--gloves and grips and what was possibly a coiled set of replacement strings. Thor quickly zipped the bag and stood, slinging it over one shoulder.

 

“Oh,” Steve said. He had silently planned on watching another film with Thor, maybe getting a pizza, not thinking that Thor would have other plans. “What time will you be back?”

 

“Not until late. Clint informed me that our destination is a few hours from here.”

 

Steve nodded, disappointed, and then glanced at the floor.

 

Confusion crossed Thor’s brow. “Do you no longer see Stark on Friday nights?”

 

Steve raised his brows. It _was_ Friday. Thor had obviously made his plans because he thought Steve would already be busy, and a five minute conversation with Tony would mean that Steve had plans for tonight, provided Tony wasn’t already doing something with Pepper. He just hadn’t run into Stark yet.

 

“No, I do.”

 

“You sounded...disappointed,” Thor clarified.

 

“Just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie tonight, or some TV,” Steve said, shrugging. “Maybe get a pizza.”

 

“Ah. Had I known...” Thor paused. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, tomorrow’s good.”

 

\---

 

 

They geared up for _Temple of Doom_ the next night.

 

It was, as Tony repeatedly told them, the “low point” of the trilogy (Tony also refused to acknowledge the fourth film; Steve wasn’t supposed to know it existed). And Steve could see why, even though they were only halfway through.

 

Steve sighed, almost regretting that they’d decided to slog their way through this one. He’d enjoyed the first, but this was just...boring. Idly, he tapped the remote against his thigh, one knee bobbing anxiously. His mind started to wander, thinking of the things he had to do tomorrow, tasks he had to assign and various things he should follow up on.

 

When Thor slid his arm around his lower back, seemingly sensing his distraction, Steve couldn’t help his surprise. He straightened up, trying to hide his little jump, and looked over at Thor, who was grinning boyishly. Steve took too long to protest, and by the time he thought to, Thor had leaned forward and kissed him, all soft and warm. Suddenly Steve couldn’t sense anything beyond Thor, couldn’t hear the movie or see the flashing lights of the screen or feel the couch underneath him.

 

Their kiss turned rough--Steve was eager for it; having not really had a moment alone like this with Thor in almost a week, he was more than a little frustrated with the pent up desire to touch. Thor changed the kiss, nibbling at his lower lip, scraping teeth over Steve’s jaw and chin, the scratch of his beard sending shivers down Steve’s spine. Steve retaliated by letting his hands wander, seeking purchase on Thor’s sturdy arms, one hand eventually settling in Thor’s hair.

 

When Thor shifted them, pushing Steve back as if he were made of paper and not flesh and blood, Steve let it happen. He gave no protest as Thor settled himself above him, one of Steve’s knees on either side of him, with Steve’s head resting on the couch near the arm. As Thor leaned down over him, his weight firm and solid on Steve, his hair cascaded down, surrounding Steve’s head with blond locks.

 

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, Thor using one arm to prop himself up, and then Thor pressed his lips to Steve again, their kiss exploding into a frantic battle of touching and groping as their thinly held control dissolved. Steve slid his hands under Thor’s shirt, feeling his shoulders and back, and then moving down lower, while Thor used his free hand to push Steve’s shirt up, lightly tracing his nipple with the pad of his thumb.

 

Instinctively, Steve bucked against Thor, gasping into their kiss as he pressed their hips together. Thor kissed back, harder, and pitched forward when Steve put his hands on his ass, gripping him through the denim of his jeans.

 

God, it was good. Fast, a bit dirty, and rough, but most importantly, good. No, not just good, great, the kind of great Steve had only experienced a few times in his life. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was simply out of desperation, from having gone too long without someone who really understood him, or if he just had that much desire in him for Thor, but none of that mattered right now, not when Thor was kissing him and touching him like this.

 

For a moment, he forgot about everything outside, forgot about the stupid movie, forgot about the things he’d have to do tomorrow, forgot about all the trials and tribulations of living in this tower. He lost himself in the heady combination of touch and taste and sound, and it was all a hot, dizzying rush until a _creak_ split the air, followed by what was unmistakably the sound of footsteps.

 

They froze, like rabbits, Steve’s whole body going rigid underneath Thor. Thor picked up his head, glancing toward the doorway for a split second as the footsteps sounded from down the hall. Then they were scrambling, Steve pushing Thor off of him as Thor scurried backwards, sitting on the far end of the couch and trying to push his hair back and adjust his clothes.

 

Steve pulled his shirt down but remained where he was, lounging on the end of the couch, like he’d just taken up these two-thirds of it for himself. Thor leaned away from him, resting on the opposite arm, his whole mien now anxious with a thin layer of casual painted over it. He snuck Steve a nervous glance, and Steve pretended not to see it, instead trying to refocus on the film. To Steve, they seemed so obvious, so blatant in what they’d been doing that he didn’t know how someone wouldn’t be able to tell.

 

Their knee-jerk reaction had come not a moment too soon. The footsteps came to stop in the doorway of the common room, and Steve craned his head up to see Tony, careful not to turn to face Tony too much. He could feel his heart still pounding from the sudden anxiety, and was afraid that his skin would be as horribly flushed as it felt. He felt a bit safer when he saw Tony’s his face and skin lit blue by the light coming off the TV. If the light was enough to wash out Tony’s complexion from that far away, then Tony probably couldn’t see anything untoward on Steve’s and Thor’s faces..

 

“ _Temple of Doom_?” he asked, folding his arms in front of his chest.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, and Thor nodded in agreement.

 

Tony shook his head. “I promise you, _Last Crusade_ is better.”

 

“Duly noted, Tony.”

 

\---

 

The next day, through mutual avoidance, neither of them saw the other.

 

After Tony had almost walked in on them last night, Steve was still too skittish to be around the others with Thor. He was afraid that he would do something or say something and then the rest of the team would just give Steve that _look_ , the one that plain as day said, _We know what you’ve been up to, Captain Rogers._

 

In fact, Steve managed to go the whole day without seeing Thor, and although it was difficult to keep him from his thoughts, both out of worry and a bit of fantasy, for the most part he was able to. It was only when he had turned in for the night, tossing and turning in his bed with that horrid possibility looming over him, that he decided to do something about it.

 

Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock, and saw that it was after midnight. _God,_ he thought to himself, shuffling toward the door and the hall, still clad in his PJs, _doesn’t this look suspicious as all getout?_ He crept to the stairwell, slipped inside, and within another minute he was at Thor’s apartment, knocking softly on his door.

 

Was Thor even still up? Steve hadn’t considered that until he was down here. He was probably asleep, and wouldn’t even hear Steve knocking. Biting his lip, Steve shifted from foot to foot, before deciding it could wait till morning, even though the lurch in his stomach begged him to get this settled _now._

 

Just as he was about to leave, the door creaked, and then opened.

 

“Captain Rogers?” A somewhat bedraggled looking Thor stood there, wearing fleece pajama bottoms, but no shirt. His hair was messy, tangled and almost frizzy, one lock sticking out at a long angle and reminding Steve of an antenna.

 

Thor stuck his head out and looked around. When he saw no one else, he stepped back, fully opening the door, and moved aside, gesturing for Steve to come in.

 

Steve almost rushed inside, and Thor shut the door behind him. “I didn’t...I wasn’t expecting to see you...”

 

“I know,” Steve said. “I’m sorry. But I’ve been thinking about last night.”

 

Thor’s brows raised. “And?”

 

“And I don’t...” Hm, how to say this... “I think we need some, ah, ground rules. Just...for when we’re around in the tower.”

 

“What kind of rules?”

 

“I... _rule,_ I guess. Just no...no kissing and stuff unless we’re in a completely private spot. Like here. Or in my rooms.”

 

Thor nodded. Steve brushed a piece of hair out of his face.

 

“I...I think maybe we should stop watching movies down there, too. So that the others don’t get too suspicious.” He paused. “We can’t just suddenly start spending all this time together and not expect them to ask questions.”

 

Sleepily, Thor pusheded some of his hair behind his ear, his neutral expression slowly turning to a frown. “I had already asked Stark for a television of my own,” he said, “so that we would not disturb the others by being in the common room.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Should I tell him I no longer desire one?”

 

Steve shook his head. “No. It’s fine. We just can’t do this every night.”

 

“I understand.” Despite agreeing, both Thor’s tone and expression showed some discontent. He folded his arms over his chest. “Perhaps we can see each other later in the week.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sure.” Steve darted forward and pressed what had to be just about the quickest kiss of his life to Thor’s cheek. “I should go,” he mumbled after, quickly stepping back. “Sorry for waking you up.”

 

\---

 

For the next four days, they tiptoed around each other.

 

There was no attempt at avoidance, but there also wasn’t one at contact. Instead, Steve busied himself with the gym, with conversation with Tony (and sometimes Pepper), and occasionally with any tasks Fury passed on to him. He found whatever he could to distract himself from missing Thor’s presence too much, to keep from caving in and just going to hang out. A repeat of the night where Tony had walked in was too likely, so better to keep apart altogether.

 

The TV Tony had picked out for Thor arrived during those days, and Tony had taken an hour out of his day to program it and get it connected to the tower’s network and J.A.R.V.I.S. He complained to Steve about it, not about anything Thor had done, but rather something about how the ports on the television were laid out. Being Tony, he’d quickly gotten himself distracted, and then spent the better part of half an hour designing his own TV.

 

Clint and Natasha decided to move the Xbox to Thor’s suite, and Steve would hear them playing it sometimes, rumbling explosions coming from behind Thor’s closed door, loud enough to carry to the lobby or the stairwell. Once, he considered joining in, and then he remembered how overwhelmed he had been with technology, how condescending Stark’s jokes had been when he’d fumbled at the controller and it’s tiny buttons, and instead kept walking past Thor’s door.

 

Two days later, Thor asked him if he wanted to come up to his room. Steve did, of course, but the lingering fear of being caught popped up in the back of his mind, and this time, he was unable to beat it back down. So he had suggested that they go outside the tower, knowing that that way neither of them would be tempted to do anything.

 

They’d settled on going to see _The Hobbit._ Tony had told them about it, when he suggested that they watch _The Lord of the Rings_ after they were finished with _Indiana Jones._ Of course, Thor had been intrigued when he’d heard what it was about, whereas Steve had been mildly skeptical. He liked science fiction, but fantasy as a genre wasn’t his favorite. But nonetheless he’d gone along, standing beside Thor on a frosty December afternoon as they waited in line, enjoying the sight of the city bustling around them.

 

Thor paid for both of their tickets, a gesture which Steve was unsure if he could interpret as chivalry or not. Did it count as chivalry when they were both men?

 

Inside, their theater was warm and dark, and although Steve lost track of what was going on at some points in the film, overall it was enjoyable, enough to distract him for a few hours.

 

“Did you enjoy it?” Thor asked as they were leaving the theater, Steve zipping up his jacket.

 

“It was fine,” Steve said. “Nothing life-changing, but interesting enough.”

 

Thor nodded. He didn’t bother to zip his coat, but the cold, dry air outside didn’t seem to bother him. He did, however, pull his hood up upon seeing the snowflakes drifting down outside. “Stark said it was based on a book,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps I should find a copy.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, recalling the packed bookshelves in Thor’s living room and the pleasure Thor seemed to get from books in general. Should he try to find a copy for Thor for Christmas? Thor didn’t celebrate Christmas the same way Steve did, but he embraced the spirit of the holiday, and the whole team exchanged small gifts. Maybe he could locate a nice, hardbound edition to give to Thor. It was something to think about.

 

It took a while for the car to heat up as Steve drove them back. The snow was coming down harder by the time they pulled into the garage, thick, white, fat flakes coating everything from the car to the streets to the passersby. The windshield wipers kept most of it off the windshield, except for a few piles on the edges and at the bottom.

 

After Steve put it in park and turned off the car, they both stayed where they were. Thor looked out his window and then at Steve, his hand twitching toward Steve, but at the last minute he hesitated, and pulled his hand away, reaching for the door instead.

 

He followed Steve to the elevator, Steve pressing the button before idly putting his hands in his pockets. It was cold, even in the garage, and the car hadn’t really gotten warm until the very end of their trip.

 

“Steve,” Thor began, and Steve glanced up at him, “would you like to come up for a bit?”

 

Steve’s eyes darted to the floor. He wanted to go up to Thor’s apartment, spend a bit of time there--it was late afternoon, and the odds were low that anyone would come looking specifically for him. “Yeah, sure,” Steve said, and from the corner of his eye he saw Thor straighten up a bit, a broad smile spreading across his face.

 

The doors slid open, and Steve followed Thor inside, settling himself in the back right corner, Thor standing a few feet away, pushing his hair back behind his ears, since a few wisps had drifted forward. His nose, ears, and cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, and Steve grinned affectionately at the sight.

 

He was still lost in thought when the elevator doors stopped two floors early. Steve didn’t think his expression had ever sobered so fast, but suddenly he was all business, any trace of happiness, of bemusement gone from his features as the doors slid open to reveal a very distracted Bruce, who was more focused on reading whatever was in the manila folder he was holding than looking where he was going. He got on without looking up, Thor shuffling further away from Steve to make room for him. Bruce didn’t seem to notice, instead reaching down to hit the button for one of the R&D floors.

 

“Oh, hey,” he said, finally looking up. Thor gave him a tense smile, and Steve jerked his head in Bruce’s direction. “Where were you two?”

 

“We went to see a film,” Thor explained. “ _The Hobbit.”_

 

“Oh,” Bruce said. “Did you like it?”

 

“I enjoyed it, yes,” Thor replied. “Captain?” He looked to Steve.

 

“It wasn’t bad.” Steve warily eyed the panel at the front of the elevator, directly behind Bruce, noticing that he hadn’t pressed the button for his floor. _Shit._ He drew his mouth into a line. He couldn’t just get off at Thor’s floor now--what if Bruce got the wrong idea? They shouldn’t even be doing this during the day; it was so much safer late at night, when everyone had gone to bed, when the risks of accidental discovery were low enough that Steve felt comfortable.

 

“Hey, Bruce,” he asked, “can you hit the button for my floor?”

 

“Hm?” Bruce looked up, processing Steve’s request for a long moment before he reached behind himself and found the right button. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.” Bruce stared down at his file again, adjusting his glasses on his face. Thor glanced at Steve, his gaze both anxious and forlorn. Steve kept his eyes fixated on the doors until they opened for his floor.

 

“See you two around,” he said, waving over his shoulder, not looking back at them. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on Thor’s face. Instead, he kept walking, unlocking his door as the elevator slid closed once more, letting himself in to the comforting stillness of his deserted apartment.

 

It was dark; his first order of business was to flip on some lights, his second to pull off his coat and put it back in the closet. His shoes were discarded at the foot of it, toed off and put back in his shoe rack, and then he shut the closet just as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

 _Thor,_ he thought. Who else would it be? Sighing, he pulled it from his pocket, unlocking it as he sank down in one of the chairs he had in his kitchenette. There was indeed a message from Thor, one that Steve reluctantly opened, hoping that Thor wasn’t angry that Steve had abandoned him.

 

_Why did you leave?_

 

Steve frowned. That should have been obvious, right? _Because it was my floor,_ he typed back, setting the phone on his table. He had just stood up to go find a snack when it buzzed again.

 

_I thought you were going to come up with me._

 

This time Steve hesitated before typing a reply. _Bruce was there._ It was honestly why he had left. And they had agreed to not do anything where someone else might see.

 

His phone vibrated again when he reached the fridge. Steve picked out his snack--a leftover slice of pizza from his Friday with Tony--before returning to it. _You could have come anyway._

 

_Bruce might’ve noticed._

 

_I doubt he would have. And Bruce is not here now._

 

Steve stopped chewing, his phone in one hand, pizza in the other, not having bothered with a plate. Thor’s... _expectation_ that he come up irritated him, though he knew why Thor would feel that way. But couldn’t see he see the risk?  _I’ll see you some other time, okay?_ he pecked out. He’d originally typed “tomorrow” but decided against it; making commitments didn’t seem like the best idea right now.

 

He was gnawing on the crust when Thor’s final reply came in. It was simple, a curt _All right,_ no little smiley faces, no well-wishing, no excitement. For a moment Steve wanted to reply, wanted to tell Thor that he _did_ want to come up, he was just too nervous to now, but as his thumb hovered over the keyboard he found himself unable to.

 

Instead, he set his phone down and hoped that Thor understood.

 

\---

 

“Some other time” turned out to be three days later.

 

By then, Steve knew he had to be the one to initiate more meaningful contact, aside from the awkward bouts of smalltalk they had exchanged in public. He’d essentially rebuffed Thor, and if he wanted to continue this...relationship, he should be the one to make the next move.

 

He thought about what they could do that wouldn’t look suspicious to the team, and he reasoned that there wasn’t anything wrong with a meal and a bit of conversation. It was the type of thing he frequently did with Tony, what friends did all the time with each other. He had to try and stop thinking that any contact he had with Thor would invite suspicion. He invited Thor up the next day, trying to sound as casual as possible, still not feeling one hundred percent back into the physical aspect of their relationship.

 

Together, they finished a full large pizza. Thor ate a considerable amount more than Tony. While Tony ate like a bird, nibbling here and there as he worked on things (unless they were at a social function), Thor _loved_ food, wholly and unabashedly, leaving Steve with no leftovers to snack on later.

 

He did let Steve have the last slice, though.

 

After dinner, Steve set their plates in the sink while Thor decimated the pizza’s cardboard box to fit it in the recycling. “Would you like to finish the last _Indiana Jones_ film tonight?” Thor asked, wedging the box in Steve’s blue recycling bin.

 

“I was thinking,” Steve began, “maybe we’d just play some cards? Sit and talk? I’m almost burned out on movies.”

 

Thor grinned. “Certainly.”

 

When the kitchen was cleaned and the table cleared, Steve found a deck of playing cards and set them on the table. He opened the pack, thumbed the corners, and then spread them out on the coffee table, picking out one of each suit and explaining the way the deck worked to Thor. Next to follow was hierarchy, and then Steve figured that was enough to start with some simple games.

 

After their second round of War, Steve gathered the cards up once more and started to shuffle them. “Do you have things like this back in Asgard?”

 

“Games?”

 

“Card games.” Steve held up a card, the Jack of Hearts, for emphasis.

 

Thor shook his head no. “We have...similar things, but nothing with these. There is _tafl_ and _tablut,_ but those are more similar to...” he paused, thinking about his words, “...to chess, perhaps.”

 

Steve started to deal between them. “You’ll have to teach us one day,” he said.

 

“I would like that,” Thor said, and Steve dealt the last few cards between them. “Perhaps I can bring a board back with me.”

 

Steve looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity. Thor looked up from gathering his cards into his hand.

 

“I am returning to Asgard for a fortnight,” he said. “I thought you knew.”

 

Steve shook his head no, shuffling his cards into a neat stack before picking them up. “No,” he admitted, unsure if it was his own fault for not listening at some function, or if nobody had bothered to tell him. “When do you leave?”

 

“A week and a half.”

 

Absentmindedly, Steve nodded, settling his cards in his hand. He reached to rearrange a few. “Going for anything in particular or just a visit?”

 

“There has been word of Loki,” Thor said, and his voice dropped a bit. “And I have not been home in some time.”

 

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

 

By their third game, Thor had the hierarchy down pat, and then Steve decided to teach him rummy, since there were only two of them and he didn’t really want to drag J.A.R.V.I.S. into the mix.

 

The learning curve was a bit steeper on rummy, but Steve was patient. He remembered when they used to play this during the war, either late at night in some makeshift mess hall, or in the barracks, sometimes even out in the field, lying in the mud and the dirt and laughing with the Howling Commandoes. Somehow despite all the action, all the blood and the fighting and the sheer _loss,_ times had been slower then, with no cellphones, no computers, no tablets, no internet. This had been entertainment, not the sad attempts that reality TV put out.

 

He blinked a few times, clearing his thoughts. Thor was still hung up on his turn, staring at the cards on the table, his tongue a pink sliver between his lips. “I’m afraid I’m not much good at this,” he confessed, thumbing the cards in his hand.

 

“You’re doing fine,” Steve assured. “It takes awhile to get the hang of this.”

 

Thor nodded, set his card in the discard pile, and then looked to Steve for approval. Steve peered at his choice and then nodded, Thor’s eyes lighting up.

 

“Where did you learn to play this?” Thor asked on the next turn. “I’ve never seen Stark or Barton play, but I have seen such things in films and on the television.”

 

“I learned as a kid,” Steve admitted. “My mom taught me, and then I used to play with Bucky. During the war we played a lot.” He paused, deciding to meld a few cards, and then placing one on top of the discard pile. “When I was growing up, there was no internet and we didn’t have a TV--they didn’t really get popular until later. So this was what we did as entertainment, along with reading and listening to the radio.”

 

There was genuine understanding in Thor’s eyes when Steve looked at him. _Of course,_ Steve thought. He came from a similar world, a similar culture. They didn’t have MTV in Asgard, nor any kind of a mass media. “Sometimes,” Thor said, examining his hand, “this world moves too fast for my liking.”

 

Steve gave a snort of laughter. “Tell me about it.” He rearranged his hand, shuffling two cards around. “I woke up and there were cellphones and the internet and all these ways to stay connected and yet people didn’t even notice one another on the street. It’s like we took two steps forward and a giant one back.”

 

“Would you go back?” Thor asked. “If you could?”

 

Sucking in a small breath, Steve blinked, and then stared down at his hand. Would he? Peggy had been waiting for him, all those years ago, and Howard, and his other friends--Dugan and Field and Morita, Dernier and Jones... But he had friends here, now, with one of them sitting right across from him, expectantly waiting an answer. He had Tony and Clint, Natasha, Bruce, and he had a cause here, too, although it had been a difficult adjustment to get there. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

 

Thor’s face softened at Steve’s words. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was careless of me.”

 

Steve shook his head. “It’s fine.”

 

They finished that game, and then Steve dealt another after getting them some drinks. Their conversation stumbled onwards, little bits here and there, and then, halfway through the game and just after melding, Thor reached over and grasped Steve’s hand, which had been idly laying on the table.

 

Steve ground his teeth together, his skin feeling hot and prickly, and not just in a good way. He wanted this, wanted Thor. He _did_. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was going to walk in and catch them, even though they were alone, even though they were in private. It was just like that night with _Indiana Jones,_ when Thor had been kissing him on the couch and they’d heard Tony. He remembered the panic of being caught. He felt... _guilty,_ of all things, for holding Thor’s hand, like it was something he shouldn’t be doing, even though he was perfectly aware that they were two consenting adults, and that this wasn’t illegal in the slightest.

 

And, if he was being honest, Steve was afraid because he knew that if he left himself have this, he was going to slip up in front of someone, someday.

 

The rough pad of Thor’s thumb stroked over the outside of Steve’s, and Steve felt something in his stomach lurch. It was fine. He liked this, deep down, he did, beneath the shame and the worry, and when he glanced over at Thor from the corner of his eye he was hit with a regret that Thor couldn’t just hold him and chase all of these stupid anxieties away. _But he could,_ Steve told himself, _if only you’d just let him._

 

When Thor released his hand, relief hit Steve, and he pulled his hand back into his own lap, staring down at his knees. Now if anyone walked in, as unlikely and near impossible as that was, there was no chance they could get the wrong impression, no chance that the two of them would be discovered. Steve furrowed his brows. He couldn’t even enjoy the time he spent with Thor anymore, too worried and anxious. _This is too high a price to pay_ , he thought miserably. He had never felt this way with Peggy, and it felt desperately unfair to both him and Thor that he should now.

 

Steve jumped when he felt fingers on his brow, Thor brushing some strands of hair from his forehead. He tried to tuck them behind Steve’s ear, but they were too short, falling back into Steve’s face as soon as Thor’s fingers pulled away.

 

Instead, they traced under his jaw, to his chin, tugging Steve to look at him. “May I?”

 

Steve hesitated before making eye contact, his eyes screaming _Yes_ while his mouth remained silent.

 

Thor pressed their lips together, but Steve didn’t react, didn’t nudge forward, didn’t hum in appreciation, didn’t reach out to touch Thor. He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Thor sat back a second later, his expression dejected and resigned.

 

“Do you not find me attractive?” he asked, brusque. “Be honest with me.”

 

That was Thor. Straight to the point, no matter the situation, leaving Steve no room for excuses or equivocation.. He was clearly done waiting, done watching Steve beat around the bush and dodge him, and Steve felt the same aggravation with himself. Frustrated, Steve tried to put a sentence together, to articulate what he felt, but nothing came, nothing but anger and self-pity and resignation.

 

Thor tilted his head forward, waiting on an answer, and when Steve met his gaze he was taken aback by Thor’s earnestness. After a moment, when he received no reply, Thor pulled his gaze away, shifting his weight and preparing to stand.

 

“I understand, Captain,” he said, not coldly, but hollowly, and Steve knew it wasn’t just for this kiss, it was an apology for the whole situation.

 

None of this was Thor’s fault. Here they were again, back on his couch, Steve stalling when he really needed to simply listen to his gut, to trust his deepest instincts and not be swayed by all of this other, other _bullshit_ that kept getting in the way.

 

Thor was taking his bottles over to the recycling when Steve finally found the motivation to stand and walk over. He caught Thor just as he was turning around to come back for the last bits of trash, placing himself in Thor’s path and trapping Thor between his body and the counter.

 

Thor sucked in a small breath, eyes glancing up Steve’s body, from his feet to his head. “Have you found someone else?” he asked, voice quiet. Steve saw the brief flash in his eyes, as if he were challenging Steve to find someone better. Then Thor dropped his gaze. “If you have...” he said, for the first time sounding small, his voice trailing off. “There were no promises made between us.”

 

“It’s nothing like that,” Steve said, and Thor looked off to the side. “There’s nobody else--I swear. I’m just afraid,” he continued. “I’m afraid of us getting caught.”

 

“I know you worry,” Thor said, “but I know not why. These are our teammates, our friends.” He reached out, tentatively took one of Steve’s hands in his own. “If they... If by some means they found out, there would be no malice from them, no mockery.” His thumb traced Steve’s knuckles.

 

Steve sighed. “But still, I....”

 

He was about to sigh again, to continue his little monologue, when Thor reached over and put his hand on Steve’s upper arm, squeezing lightly.

 

“I worry, too,” he said. “I have my own fears and anxieties about this. But I think...I think it best if we put them aside when we are with one another. I enjoy your company and your person, and I would not let such petty thoughts ruin my time with you. I do not wish to compete with _fear_ for your attentions. When it is just us, alone, there is no reason to be afraid.”

 

“I...I know,” Steve repeated, his tongue feeling like lead. “I just...I don’t know if I could handle being found out by _anyone,_ even if it was just someone on the team.”

 

“Why?” Thor said, tilting his head. “They are our friends. We trust them with our lives, with the safety and well-being of those were care about. I fully believe that they would not ridicule us for this, nor would they condemn or chastise us.”

 

“I know, it’s just...” Steve looked down. Suddenly, Thor’s hand was gone from his, the space between them widening.

 

“Are you _ashamed_ of me?” Thor asked, his expression caught somewhere between anger and betrayal. Steve stared at him, tried to word an answer, but how could he? How could he tell Thor he wasn’t ashamed of Thor’s person, but of the fact that he was a _man_?

 

“I...” he began, but he’d taken too long. Thor looked away, snorting in disbelief, and folded his arms over his chest.

 

“Of course you would be,” he said bitterly. “I’m just the foreigner, an alien from another world, more out of place than even you.” Suddenly he looked directly-- _accusingly_ \--at Steve. “To you my blunders and foibles must be so comical. Ever the naive, stupid, _pitiable,_ ” he broke off, searching for a word as he pushed past Steve, “ _outsider_.” Thor rushed to the door. Once there, he paused, his hand on the knob. “I expected more from you,” he said quietly, disappointment ringing loud in every word.

 

Nothing else was said, not even a goodbye. There was just Thor yanking the door open and nearly slamming it shut behind him. Steve closed his eyes for a long moment, and then raked his hands through his hair and started to pile up the cards on the table one by one.

 

\---

 

Steve hadn’t expected Thor to react like that.

 

He knew his little episode of beating around the bush had upset him, but he thought that Thor would have been more understanding, that coming from his culture, he would have perhaps shared the same fears and reluctances that Steve did. And at first, Steve was angry at Thor for not understanding, for assuming that Steve should be all hunky-dory with the possibility of going public.

 

But then, as he was laying wide-eyed in his bed, unable to sleep and staring at his ceiling fan, a quote surfaced in the back of his mind, something throwaway, something he’d let sink years ago.

 

 _“Because of_ him.” Fury, with his back to the wall, explaining why Phase 2 had been enacted, explaining why S.H.I.E.L.D. deemed it acceptable to build weapons of mass destruction. And he’d pointed at Thor, pinned this whole mess on him, as if it wasn’t enough to just blame Thor for his brother’s actions, but now he needed this yoke to bear as well.

 

Suddenly Thor’s words, his actions, all of it made sense. He was already an outsider to them, the most foreign, and Fury’s words had inadvertently build a wall between him and the rest of their group. Thor was trying to take it down, brick by brick, but Steve knew that the guilt was still there, the belief that he was responsible for what his brother had done in Manhattan, for nearly getting Stark and Coulson killed, for causing so much fear in a race he meant no harm toward.

 

Thor wanted to be close to the others, to create bonds of friendship with everyone in the group. Steve had gone through the same thing, but he’d never been as separate from the others as Thor had, hadn’t had as many obstacles to overcome to simply be seen as one of them. And here, with perhaps the deepest connection Thor had yet made, and Steve was pushing him away, telling him it was something to be kept hidden. Back in Asgard, Thor was a prince, royalty, a celebrity in his own right. No one in Asgard would ever be _ashamed_ to be seen with him; Steve was certain it was considered an honor to be in his company. And here Steve was, telling Thor they couldn’t be close or even remotely affectionate in public. No wonder Thor was angry and hurt.

 

Steve knew he had to clear this up. He had to apologize, at the very least, to smooth things over with Thor, even if they decided to abandon their fledgling relationship. They were still on a team together, and while it would be awkward as hell for a while, Steve knew they would both have to deal with it. Apologizing would help start to patch things up.

 

He’d set this right. He would.

 

\---

 

Thor needed to hit something.

 

He’d left Steve’s room with frustration and anger simmering under his skin, annoyed and aggravated by Steve’s continued treatment of him as something not important, to be pushed aside in the face of every little obstacle. He wanted to find the nearest table and overturn it, watch the contents crash to the ground to smash and scatter scatter, or find something on a shelf and hurl it at the wall. The memory of his failed coronation returned, and he dismissed the childish desire. This wasn’t Asgard, where servants would scuttle in to clean up the mess from his tantrum; this was Stark’s tower, with things that didn’t belong to him, with no servants to come and sweep up after him.

 

Going to his room would be useless and would probably result in Thor breaking something personal, which he would regret later. And so he took the elevator down to the gym, ignoring the fact that he was still dressed in his bluejeans and gray shirt, his Doc Martens squeaking on the floor.

 

Their squeal was almost unbearable as Thor strode across the rubber tiles of the gym, making his way to the freeweights in the back. He loaded two extra hundred-pound discs on each side of the bench press, moving them with utter ease, and then lay down on the bench, arms reaching up for the bar. He didn’t need a spotter. This was light weight compared to what he could do. Tony had actually reengineered the bar to accommodate the amount of weight Thor had wanted to do. He did sets of twenty-five, eventually just going until his mind lost track and he would set the bar back up on its holder. A few moments would pass, and then he’d lose himself in another set.

 

What had happened with Steve hurt. Thor knew, going in, that there would be different challenges in being with Steve. This...this _relationship_ , if it could even be called that, was new in many ways for both of them--even to Thor, who was much more experienced.

 

In Asgard, his mother had tried introducing Thor toward many fine, respectable ladies, in the hopes that one would catch his eye. They’d all been nice enough, but for most of his life, he’d preferred the simple, uncomplicated tumbles with serving maids and tavern wenches. Even those he’d pursued for longer than a few nights had all shared similar traits of being feisty and free with their affections. In comparison, Steve was nearly the antithesis of his former interests.

 

And there had always been Sif, who was also, like Steve, a warrior, fierce and proud. But she lacked Steve’s reserve, lacked his foresight and planning ability. Where Steve was calm and collected, a natural leader, Sif was an eager flame. Thor had always liked that about her; the two of them knew that someday they would settle down together when Thor took the throne. It was an unspoken agreement between them, and though they were great friends, neither was in any hurry to make those future plans a reality. And now, after all that had happened here on Midgard, after Steve, Thor wasn’t so sure that Sif was the kind of queen he should be looking for, despite the great affection he held for her.

 

In many ways, his relationship with Jane served as a way to bridge his two lives, the one before on Asgard as a prince, and the one here on Midgard as an Avenger. She was the first one he’d seen as more than a quick tumble, the first woman he’d actually loved and cherished as a lover he planned to be with for a long time. She was the one who ignited the desire in him to find someone to share a life with, but things hadn’t worked out for them Jane had always been busy with work, and often the time they did spend together was interrupted his his Avenger duties. She had ended things with him because they never saw one another. Thor had understood, both then and now, even though it had hurt. While he could wait forever, she couldn’t, and he loved her enough to let her go. Some part of him would always love her, and he was grateful for the time they’d spent together. It was possible, that if not for her, he wouldn’t  have wanted to have a relationship with someone like Steve, someone who expected fidelity and commitment.

 

Things with Steve might not have be so dire, or so painful, if he had stronger bonds with the rest of the team. They treated him well enough, were never cruel or hurtful, but Thor was always aware of the barrier between them, of how they kept just a bit of distance from him. To them, he was an outsider, just different enough that he didn’t quite fit on. Not only that, he was dangerous, his abilities strange and unnatural, no matter how used to them they’d grown. He had brought destruction to their world, twice; it was understandable that they were leery. Though his team didn’t hold him responsible, they hadn’t quite brought him into the fold like they had with each other. And Thor, to be honest, hadn’t always helped it along. There were the cults that followed him, that harassed him, that revered him as their living proof of superiority, and there had been the Thor Steinar shop...

 

The whole thing was a mess, simply made worse as he lost hope with Steve.

 

With one last vigorous press, Thor dropped the bar back into place. He would be leaving for Asgard in a week, back to his home, where he didn’t always feel so out of place. The stay would clear his mind a bit, even if the summons bringing him back concerned his brother. And then he would return here, would act like nothing had ever happened with Steve, and in time it would fade and everything would move on, just like it had with Jane.

 

He rested his head on the bench, feeling the way his shirt was stuck to his body from perspiration, and closed his eyes, his arms still extended up, lightly grasping the bar. He sighed deeply, trying to clear his mind and just _forget_ all of it. He was getting close when he heard footsteps from the other side of the room.

 

“Thor?”

 

Bruce’s voice, soft and unobtrusive, nearly lost to the white noise of the room. “You okay?” he continued, and Thor dropped his arms, ducking under the bar as he sat up.

 

“I am well,” he replied, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice. He swung his leg over the bench, facing Bruce as he started to walk into the room.

 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Bruce said sheepishly. “I couldn’t sleep, and when I got out of bed I realized I left my mat down here.” He finished crossing the room to pick up the rolled up blue foam mat left lying near the wall. After he picked it up, he glanced again at Thor, noting his state, as Thor fumbled with his sleeves. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

 

Thor raked a sweaty hand through his hair. “No.”

 

“Something up?” Bruce tapped his one palm with the end of the mat.

 

 _Yes, Dr. Banner,_ Thor wanted to say. For a moment he wanted to spill the whole story, just tell it all as if it had been some sort of odd joke in the end, a joke he hadn’t gotten. _But it’s hilarious, Dr. Banner. Surely you understand it._

 

He took too long with his silence, and Bruce frowned, shifting his weight to his right leg and holding the mat with both hands. “Tony said you were going back to Asgard for a bit. Does that have something to do with it?”

 

Loki had always called Thor a terrible liar, but Loki had been the master liar; Thor knew his fabrication abilities were more than satisfactory. “Yes,” he said, adding a drop of gravity to his voice. “It concerns my brother.”

 

“Ah.” Bruce nodded. Thor’s teammates all had an uncanny ability to all become tight-lipped once Thor mentioned his brother. “If, uh, if you want to talk about it...before you go,” he continued, gesturing with the mat, “I’ll be around.”

 

“Thank you, Dr. Banner.”

 

“Anytime.” He pointed the end of the mat in Thor’s direction and then turned toward the door. Thor watched him slip out, his hands resting idly on his knees.

 

\---

 

Thor was a master of the cold shoulder, as Steve quickly discovered.

 

He didn’t outright ignore him, but rather he acted like _nothing_ had ever happened between them, as if  their lives were like a film strip, rewound to before they were taken by Doom, their time together cut away, and then it kept playing, as if nothing had happened. Steve didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing Thor’s happy, optimistic smile in the hallway, because it meant that Thor was done with him, that he’d already forgotten or dismissed what had made him so upset.

 

There were no mentions of movies, of finishing _The Last Crusade,_ no talk of getting a six pack and socializing. They were back to before, when Steve went his way and Thor his own, and they only crossed for team functions.

 

And they went days without a team function.

 

Steve was beginning to understand why Thor had been so frustrated with him. When it had been Steve keeping his distance, keeping them from being together, it had seemed fine because it was what he wanted. He knew when it would end. But now, with Thor acting so cool toward him, he found that he couldn’t initiate any conversation, not even to apologize. And it hurt, to want to do something with Thor, even just hang out, and know that Thor wouldn’t welcome it. He was beginning to dread the next team meeting, of being forced into a confined space with Thor. He’d just have to sit away from him, near Tony, with Clint and Natasha as an added buffer zone, maybe Bruce, too, if he decided to sit next to Tony. Then, with Thor all the way at the other end, Steve would be able to get through it.

 

When it came down to it, that was just about how they ended sitting together at the bar. Natasha had just flown in from a four-day mission in Kiev, and they were all happy to have her back, which, to Tony, translated as an excuse to go drinking. Bruce opted out, to no one’s great surprise, but Steve went with them, to both socialize with them and to be their designated driver

 

Their waitress had given them a fairly secluded booth--Steve in one back corner, Tony next to him, with Clint directly across from him, Natasha next to Clint, and Thor at the opposite corner. Natasha was so small that they all fit quite nicely.

 

Steve decided to nurse a lone beer and then perhaps a soda, whereas Tony and the others jumped right in. Natasha ordered a bottle of Goldschläger (“There’s only like, 50 cents worth of gold in there, Natasha.”), and Thor and Clint both settled on different beers, between sharing the schnapps with Natasha.

 

Steve mostly listened to their conversation, adding a few words every so often, occasionally stealing a glance at Thor. Clint and Thor kept looking over the drink menu, ignoring Natasha’s complaints as they kept passing it back and forth in front of her, poking over the selection of beers by category, until Thor spotted some imported Danish mead on the list and chuckled. The next time the waitress came by, Tony ordered a bottle.

 

It had been uncorked and poured into five glasses, Tony, Clint and Natasha reaching for theirs, with only two left. “And one for the Captain,” Thor said, deliberately looking up at Steve, who had no choice but to drink it when Tony set the glass in front of him. Clint was the first to try it, followed by Tony, who was always eager in these sorts of things, and then Natasha. Steve joined in midway, finding the taste sweet, with a hint of hops and bitter at the end. It _burned_ all the way down, though, surprisingly alcoholic considering the taste. The others wanted more and ordered some, while Steve demurred and ordered a soda, sitting back and nursing it while the others kept drinking, his mind no longer on the gathering.

 

He had come to the conclusion that whatever his attraction to Thor was, it didn’t apply to other men. Or, if it did, Thor was the first and only one Steve had run into so far. Ever since he and Thor had decided to break for now, Steve had been worried that the same thing would happen again, that he’d find himself attracted to a man. But despite his mild paranoia, nothing and no one had sparked his interest. Against his better judgment, he’d even skimmed some gay porn, wonder if it was an issue of context, but the videos he found had been so awkward as to give him second-hand embarrassment.

 

There was something about Thor, about his balance between capable leader and prince, versus trusting, earnest friend, all bundled together in a body the size of a brick house, that Steve liked. He snorted as he watched Thor pour Clint another shot. Steve had always known they were more similar than he’d liked to acknowledge before, between their capabilities and their aptitude for leadership; what had really stopped Steve from getting to know him initially was the fact that Thor had an arrogant streak a mile wide.

 

But such a thing only reared its head from time to time now. The loss of his brother, as well as Loki’s accusations that Thor and his arrogant stupidity were to blame, had worn down Thor’s ego considerably. Sometimes Steve could still catch him preening, when he would don his armor, or when someone insulted him, would see how he straightened his neck and hardened his eyes, but such pride was only natural, and gone were the days when Thor challenged his team on _everything._

 

Steve shook his head when Tony offered him another drink, and Natasha sniped it out of Tony’s hand as soon as Steve refused. Clint was pretty far gone, his eyes half-closed in exhaustion, but with a smile plastered on his face. Tony was still with it, having been rather restrained and limiting himself to a shot of the Goldschläger and the mead. Natasha’s cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, and she had started to become incredibly handsy with Thor, often reaching over to touch him when she didn’t have to, twirling his hair around her fingers. Once she had reached over and grabbed a handful of his pec and squeezed while telling Tony about something pertinent to Thor. Thor, to his credit, had just been amused by the whole thing.

 

Even though it was self-centered, Steve wanted to be missed. And he didn’t think that Thor, in the middle of his imported Belgian ale, with Natasha occasionally groping him, was really missing him.

 

He couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that ran through him each time Natasha touched Thor. If they had still been together, Steve was certain Thor would have quietly cut Natasha off, would have gently pulled her hands from him before laughing it off. But now, he seemed to enjoy her attention, was subtly encouraging her by leaning closer so she didn’t have to reach so far.

 

It was a long night. He was caught between half-listening to Tony and sneaking sullen glances at Thor, the whole evening culminating with a team-wide shot of vodka, at Natasha’s request, which tasted horrible, burned even worse, and wouldn’t even get Steve drunk. But he’d done it anyway, smiling and lifting his glass up to oh-so-gently bump it with all of the others and savor the resounding _clink._

 

As Steve watched them, he suddenly wanted Clint, Natasha, and Tony gone. Arguably, they’d been Thor’s friends before Steve really had, and they’d only put their relationship on the backburner for a week, but Steve had been missing it the whole time. It made him moody and irritable, and he was mostly glad that the others left him alone.

 

And then he drove them all home, four drunk and happy teammates bundled into the SUV, oblivious to their leader’s silent brooding. He got them into the garage, herded them to the stairs and the elevator, and then, one by one they departed, stumbling off at their respective floors until it was just Thor standing beside him in an elevator that smelled vaguely like alcohol.

 

Neither of them said anything, Thor idly tilting his head back, his jacket draped over one arm. Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot, tracing the lines between the tiles on the floor.

 

When the doors open and Thor briskly got out, Steve’s head snapped up. Suddenly--and almost without his conscious consent--he lunged forward, one hand against the door to prevent it from closing.

 

“Thor,” he said, and was honest to God amazed when Thor turned to look at him, “can I come up for a bit?”

 

Thor looked him over, from head to toe, his gaze skeptical. Eventually he turned away, and Steve thought he was going to leave without giving an answer, but Thor gave a mumbled, “You may.”

 

Relieved that he hadn’t been immediately rejected, Steve stepped forward, letting the elevators doors shut as Thor turned toward his apartment. Silently, without so much as even acknowledging Steve’s presence, Thor unlocked his door and walked inside. Steve caught the door behind him, Thor not bothering to look back as he strode boldly into the room, tossing his jacket onto the couch.

 

Steve put his hands in his pockets, watching as Thor stretched his arms one at a time above his head. Roughly, he plopped down onto the sofa, reaching down to undo his Doc Martens. He’d gotten the right one off when he noticed Steve still standing there.

 

Thor’s face was pink and ruddy, and Steve knew he was still a bit intoxicated. He’d finished a bottle and a half of the Viking Blod by himself, and even Clint had expressed a little concern at the bar at how much Thor consumed. But he wasn’t rowdy and jovial like he usually was when drunk; instead he just seemed tired.

 

“Did you come up to talk, Steve?” he asked, dropping the shoe to the floor with a soft _thump._

 

“I...” Steve didn’t know why he had come up. Well, he knew _why,_ but he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen right now. Maybe he’d thought Thor would be more receptive to his apology in this mood, but it seemed less likely now. Steve set his mouth in a line for a long moment, Thor leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting with an air of impatience. “I came to say that I’m sorry for last week.”

 

Thor’s head dipped a fraction of an inch.

 

“I...what you said, about me being ashamed? I am. But not of you.” He paused. “I’m...I’ve never liked another man before, and I’m still having trouble getting my head around it. But I’m _not_ ashamed that that man is you--not at all.”

 

He sighed, trying to steel himself. “I’m afraid of...of acknowledging that I’m attracted to you. I’m afraid that it will change the way I view myself. I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m doing, that I’m in over my head.”

 

Thor looked down at the floor, sitting up and crossing his arms over his chest. Steve shifted, moving past Thor to sit beside him on the couch, feeling more confident when Thor didn’t move away or tell him to leave. “I’m sorry that you thought I was ashamed of you. That was my fault. I’m just all mixed up with how I feel about this and it came across that way.”

 

An uncomfortable silence settled on them, Steve rubbing his thumb against his opposite palm while Thor pushed his hair back behind his ears. “So what do you want, Captain?” he said, and Steve’s heart sank a bit at the sound of his title. “Tell me honestly.”

 

“I want to go back to what we had,” he admitted.

 

“And are you no longer afraid of...” Thor paused, licking his lips, “...of a teammate potentially discovering our...relationship?”

 

“I am,” Steve replied, “but I think it’s worth the risk. I can’t keep being afraid, not when it’s costing me someone I want. And with you...I think I could maybe handle it.”

 

Thor gave a half nod, and then, for the first time all evening, he turned and looked directly at Steve, who tensed slightly under his gaze. Would Thor toss him out now that he’d said his piece? Call him a hypocrite and be done with him? No, that was too cruel for Thor. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t someone to hold grudges. Thor was the man who tried time and time again to forgive his homicidal brother.

 

But this was different, Steve knew. They weren’t family, there weren’t thousands of years of history linking them, just a few years spent as roommates and comrades.

 

“What do you want, Thor?” Steve asked, desperate to break the silence.

 

“I enjoyed what we had,” Thor said, “and I would readily go back to it.” There was hesitancy in his voice, hesitancy that bothered Steve, even though he knew it was his fault. Thor had been burned before by Steve after laying himself out. So Steve leaned forward and kissed Thor hard, not caring if this was the right time, one hand firmly planted in his hair so that Thor couldn’t pull away.

 

But he didn’t struggle under Steve’s hands, instead kissing back eagerly, and when he parted his lips Steve tasted the alcohol still on his tongue, the sweet, almost candied taste of the mead lingering there. It was a frantic kiss, one peppered with bites and soft pants. And then Thor was pushing him back on the couch with a grip like iron, sliding on top of him, his body warm and solid, and Steve couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be at that moment.

 

Thor paused before leaning down, holding himself braced over Steve. “I meant what I said about going back to what we had, but you cannot keep pushing me away like you did before. It is not fair, and it hurts to try and be close to someone who will not let you near.”

 

“I know,” Steve said. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. If it turns out to be too much, I’ll tell you, I’ll be honest about it, but I won’t mess with you like that.”

 

“Good.” Then Thor bent and went back to kissing him, his hands eagerly pushing up Steve’s shirt, hooking it above his pecs as he started to press kisses down his ribs. Steve lost himself in the sensation for several minutes, pulling Thor up for more kisses in between Thor’s exploration of his skin. “Thor,” Steve half-growled, half-moaned, “it’s _late._ I have to go back.”

 

Thor looked up at him, as if challenging Steve to leave now.

 

“It’s late,” Steve reiterated, leaning up to kiss Thor again, hot and thorough and rough. “God, fuck, we’ll do this tomorrow, I swear, we have so much to catch up on, but it’s late and I have to go back.”

 

Thor looked crushed. He dropped his head, long blond strands of hair tickling Steve’s bare chest. “No one knows you’re here.”

 

Steve settled on the couch. “I know, but...” he trailed off, realizing that he was doing the same things he’d done before. “All right, listen. I have a meeting with Fury early tomorrow morning that I really can’t miss, so I’ll stay for a bit. Twenty minutes, and then I have to leave. Okay?”

 

Thor chuckled, and answered him with another kiss.

 

—-

 

True to his word, Steve went to Thor the next evening. Granted, he waited until the others were busy, but then he simply jogged up the stairs to Thor’s apartment and knocked. The sight of Thor, surprised and happy at his appearance, was enough to quash the vestiges of doubt. They’d put something mindless on the TV--Steve couldn’t even remember what it was--and spent most of the time making out, touching and exploring. That scene had repeated itself several times since then, and though they kept relatively PG, as Tony would say, Steve knew that probably couldn’t last for much longer. Thor didn’t hide his reaction to Steve’s touch, and Steve needed a few minutes every night before he could manage the walk back to his floor.

 

Thing probably would have continued developing at that pace, except that there were only three days remaining until Thor left.

 

He’d only be gone two weeks--a fortnight, as he kept saying--but that would be two full weeks without him, and Steve had barely been able to stand the one week they were apart. Even then Thor had still been around the tower, not _gone_ like he would be.

 

They had three more short days--well, two and a half, really, given that the day was half over--until Maria would drive Thor up to the Canadian border and he’d get beamed up or whatnot. And then Steve would have two weeks to himself, with only his mind and maybe some videos to distract him. He was also worried that the separation might cause their progress to backslide, to give him time and room to overthink things. Being around Thor, making that effort to be close and not push him away made it easier for him to overcome the doubt and worry. He didn’t want to lose what they had built.

 

So, Steve decided he might as well take those two and a half days for all they were worth. As soon as Fury let him out of his latest debriefing, Steve had his phone out, tapping out a message to Thor. _See you tonight??_

 

It took Thor half an hour to answer, and it was just a simple, _Of course._

 

 _My room,_ Steve typed back. _8ish._

 

Thor just sent back one of those little smiling faces.

 

That afternoon, Steve finished up everything early, taking a shower and spending some time cleaning up his apartment. It wasn’t messy, but there were things to be straightened up, and even though he knew Thor had no expectations of him, he still wanted everything to be neat. They wouldn’t even be spending time out in the living room if Thor agreed to what Steve had in mind.

 

Thor showed up at ten after eight, wearing a dark red t-shirt that seemed, like a lot of his shirts, just a little small for him, paired with black jeans. His hair was loosely tied back in a ponytail; coupled with the casual dress, Thor could’ve passed for a regular guy, if Steve hadn’t been the wiser. The ponytail, however, would have to go. Although he’d wondered what Thor would look like with short hair on more than one occasion, Steve had come to love Thor’s long hair, enjoyed seeing it loose and falling down around his face.

 

“Hi,” Steve said as he let him in. Thor returned a casual smile.

 

While Steve fiddled with the door, making sure it was locked, Thor wandered to the center of his living room, standing between the edge of the couch and the coffee table. “Did you have plans for tonight?” he asked as Steve turned around. Thor wasn’t facing him, instead focused on the far wall of Steve’s apartment, where his antique Hershey machine stood, along with his record player.

 

“Uh, sort of.”

 

Thor raised his brows and turned to face Steve as he walked to his fridge. “‘Sort of?’”

 

“Yeah.” Steve stopped in front of the fridge, one hand poised on the handle. “You want anything to drink?” He pulled the fridge open, peering at the contents.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

“Anything in particular?”

 

“Whatever you have to offer.”

 

Steve grabbed a blueberry lager left over from his last Friday with Tony, popping the lid off over the sink, and walked back to where Thor stood. He set the beer down on the coffee table, and then stepped close to Thor, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair out of his face. Covertly he wound his other arm around Thor, sneaking it up to grasp the elastic holding his hair back.

 

“This has to go,” he said, starting to tug it free. “Sorry.” Thor didn’t protest, just braced his head so Steve could pull it out. When it came free, Steve reached up and tousled Thor’s hair, scratching his scalp. Thor closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure, and as Steve pulled his hand away Thor tilted his head down and kissed him.

 

When they parted, Steve sat down on the sofa, Thor plopping down next to him, reaching for the beer. He took a long drink before setting it down again, pulling one leg into his lap and reclining back to twist his body and look at Steve. “Your plans?”

 

“They’re not really plans,” Steve said, leaning forward and bracing himself on one hand so he could peck Thor on the lips again. “More like an idea.”

 

They were nuzzling now, exchanging heated little kisses. “Oh?” Thor said, his hand coming to rest on Steve’s hip, pulling him closer.

 

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, inhaling sharply as Thor’s hand started to push up his T-shirt. “You leave in two days, and... _ah..._ I won’t get to see you for two weeks.”

 

“That is true,” Thor said, his fingers winding in little spirals up Steve’s side.

 

“So we should do something... _special_...before you go,” Steve finished, his fingers combing through Thor’s hair. They exchanged a long string of kisses before Thor answered.

 

“I agree. What did you have in mind?”

 

Steve kissed him instead of answering, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that had grown quieter since he found his resolve, choosing instead to lose himself in the warmth of Thor against him, in the way his fingers clutched at Steve’s shirtsleeve, in the soft sighs and occasional gasps he would utter. Thor let Steve push him down on the couch, climbing on top of him to pin him down, eagerly pressing kisses to Thor’s jaw, his hands sliding under Thor’s shirt. When he tilted his head back, Steve licked a stripe up his neck, over his Adam’s apple, stopping at the hollow of his throat, and Thor almost whimpered, the sound catching in his throat.

 

Fingers tensed, Steve dug his nails into the meat of Thor’s chest, enjoying how his back arched into the touch as Thor hissed. His body squirmed, and Steve shifted, settling one of his thighs between Thor’s. As their hips slid together, he could feel that Thor was half hard, cock stiff in his pants, and Steve rubbed his thigh against the denim-covered swell. Thor bucked and growled, hands coming to rest on Steve’s lower back and hold him there while Thor ground their hips together in response, Steve shuddering at the press and friction against his own erection.

 

Steve swallowed down Thor’s growl with a kiss, pushing his shirt up to expose his chest, one hand tweaking and teasing his nipples. He traced over one with his index finger, and then skimmed down lower, to the muscles of his stomach, the tip of his finger dancing over every dip and valley on Thor’s chest.

 

“Bedroom?” he whispered, part request, part order, and Thor arched into his touch again as Steve pinched his nipple. He blinked, gathered himself, and then managed a nod after a thick swallow.

 

Steve sat back, his body mourning the loss of Thor’s heat, and Thor haphazardly pushed his shirt down before sitting up, snatching Steve up in another kiss. Not wanting to break their embrace, Steve struggled off the couch, pulling Thor with him via kisses, until they finally parted and Steve grabbed his wrist.

 

Once they were in his room, Steve kicked the door shut, giving Thor a moment to survey their surroundings and take in the squash-colored walls, Steve’s set of World War Two propaganda posters (both British and American), his neat little desk with the pencil jars stuffed full of stubby, worn writing utensils.

 

Steve’s queen bed was pushed in the corner, still neatly made, although his desk on the opposite side of the room was a wreck. His sketchbook was open, a few pencils scattered on it, a lumpy, gray, kneaded gum eraser resting beside them, and the surface was surrounded by notes written on scraps of paper, things that Steve needed to remember and had simply jotted down. Even the chair was half-pulled out, twisted at the angle Steve had left it at when he’d last stood up.

 

Thor grinned a little bit at the organized chaos before his attention was caught the posters, his eyes settling on Rosie the Riveter at first, then jumping to the friendly-looking RAF pilot on the blue background. Steve slid up behind him, wrapping his arms around Thor and sneaking them under his shirt again. “Those more interesting that me?” he asked, nipping at Thor’s ear. Thor laughed and relaxed into the embrace, and after a minute Steve turned him back around and claimed his mouth. His fingers teased up the back of Thor’s shirt, tracing the hollow of his spine upwards to reach his shoulderblades.

 

They broke for a moment, Steve tugging Thor’s shirt over his head before dropping it carelessly, but as he moved to kiss Thor once again Thor stopped him with a palm pressed to his chest. Momentarily Steve stared at him, confused, until Thor swiftly divested him of his own shirt, Steve lifting his arms above his head to comply.

 

Then Thor was kissing him again, hungrily, pulling their hips together via two hands clamped onto his ass. Steve sighed into the kiss, the feel of Thor’s chest against his both novel and exciting and oh so very different than any of the women he’d been with before. Thor was all heat and muscle and _bulk,_ big and sturdy, and as he guided them toward Steve’s bed, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if they would both _fit._

 

Thor urgently nudged him onto the bed, Steve crawling on his back to sit comfortably in the center, Thor following him. He shuffled forward, on his knees, straddling Steve’s thighs while he craned his neck down to keep kissing him, Thor’s blond hair falling around both their faces.

 

And then Thor did something that completely surprised Steve. He pulled back, gingerly running one hand over the faint, faded burn scars on the left side of Steve’s body, the ones he’d earned in Manhattan. There was regret in Thor’s eyes, the same regret that came up when Loki was spoken of, or Manhattan and Phase 2 in general, or any of Loki’s subsequent attacks, and he stared sadly at the scars on Steve’s torso, running the pad of his thumb over them.

 

“Such perfect flesh should never have been marred,” he said, pressing a kiss to the small, white slash on Steve’s right deltoid. “But you earned these in battle, valiantly.” Steve awkwardly reached a hand up, carding his fingers through Thor’s hair as Thor’s head hovered there, staring at Steve with an apology in his eyes.

 

Eventually, he lowered his gaze and his head. His long hair fell down, tickling Steve’s skin as Thor pressed his lips to the center of one of Steve’s burn scars. Steve bit his lip, watching as Thor slowly worked his way upwards, kissing his each of his scars tenderly. His attentions broadened, to Steve’s shoulders, his ribs, the sharp jut of his hips, his navel. It was frustrating and thrilling in the same measure, having Thor’s lips ghost over his skin, leaving little shivers in their wake. He couldn’t help the gasp and the whine he let out when Thor finally reached his nipple, flicking his tongue over it before gently using his teeth.

 

Slowly, he meandered up to Steve’s neck again, teeth grazing over Steve’s throat before his lips pressed to Steve’s jawline, and then his mouth. Thor’s hand fell to Steve’s groin, reaching down and firmly palming him through the rough denim. Steve twisted, encouraging Thor with a throaty groan and by tightening a fist in his hair.

 

Thor responded with a rough squeeze, and as Steve clutched him, fingers digging into the unforgiving mass of Thor’s shoulder, he undid the button and zip fly on Steve’s jeans.

 

He looked at Steve for a long second before going any further, one hand resting on Steve’s lower stomach, intent clear. But Thor was waiting, waiting, Steve realized, for Steve to stop him, to tell him he didn’t want this. For a fraction of a second Steve was taken back by the gesture when things had been going so smoothly, but he realized that Thor had every right to that expectation; this was new, a deeper level to their relationship, and Steve had rebuffed him before when things had gotten too intense for him. Despite Steve’s promise, there wasn’t any guarantee for Thor that he wouldn’t back out now, not when the stakes were so much higher.

 

When Steve didn’t stop him, Thor sighed in relief and rested his head on the juncture of Steve’s shoulder and chest for a moment, and then slid his hand beneath Steve’s shorts and jeans, inching lower and lower until he palmed Steve’s cock, his fingers warm and rough around it.

 

Steve pushed his hips up into Thor’s hand, seeking friction, more of that touch, and Thor responded by starting to touch and tease, giving Steve’s cock a few exploratory tugs in the confines of his pants. Whining, Steve looked to Thor, and their gazes met for a minute, Thor’s eyes dark and unfocused, his lashes lowering as he looked down Steve’s body to where his hand disappeared beneath the waistband of Steve’s pants.

 

Suddenly, Thor was shifting, crawling above him once more, his hands making short work of Steve’s jeans and boxers, tugging them down to Steve’s knees. Startled, Steve tensed momentarily before relaxing and letting Thor do as he liked, Thor easing Steve’s jeans off and then grabbing the boxer briefs in one hand and yanking them off as well. Thor paused for a moment, just looking, and Steve felt his cheeks warm slightly. It was hardly the first time he was naked with someone, or had his body appreciated, but Thor’s look was so hungry, so intense, that he couldn’t help feel a bit embarrassed by the frank regard.

 

He let Steve’s legs fall to either side of him, snaking back up Steve’s body. “Gorgeous,” he reiterated, kissing the inside of Steve’s right thigh, and then moving further, breath ghosting hot over Steve’s groin as he inched up, laying a trail of hot, messy kisses from his navel to his solar plexus. His large hands reached up for Steve’s face and neck, smoothing over them as he kissed Steve on the mouth again, their hips colliding as Thor started to grind on him. The denim of his pants was rough against Steve’s skin, but Thor wasn’t overzealous with his gestures, and the scratch on his skin registered as excitement, not comfort. 

 

For a few minutes, Steve was content to lay under Thor, with his hands exploring every inch of skin from his hips to his shoulders to his face and neck, and then he wanted to feel Thor’s skin against his, to get rid of this damn denim that was separating them. With two hands pushing against Thor’s pecs--and it was hard for a moment not to just squeeze and test and tease--Steve urged him to stop, Thor pushing up on his arms to cock his head and look at Steve, concerned.

 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Steve murmured, leaning up to punctuate his insinuation with a kiss to Thor’s ear.

 

Thor lowered his gaze and chuckled deeply. “It would appear so.” He drew his knees forward so he could sit on his heels as he undid the button and fly on his jeans. Beneath him, Steve wriggled backwards, using his elbows to push himself up to a seating position.

 

Eagerly he reached for Thor, chasing away Thor’s hands and slipping his hands beneath the waist of Thor’s pants to push them down, much like Thor had done to him. There were no boxer briefs, no underwear of any kind, Steve noted, as he eased Thor’s pants to his knees.

 

The thought sent a jolt of pleasure straight through Steve, making heat pool in his belly and his cock twitch as Thor yanked his jeans off the rest of the way, lifting one knee and then the other before discarding his jeans at the foot of the bed. Then he turned back to Steve, and when he saw Steve staring at him, at _all_ of him, he straightened up a bit, squaring his shoulders and showing off.

 

His cock was thick and almost fully hard, a bit bigger than Steve’s own, and curved slightly. Thor was uncut like him, and Steve realized that to expect otherwise would be strange. Thor’s hand skimmed down his belly, over the light dusting of blond hair that led to his erection before finally grasping it. Thor touched and teased himself for a few moments, fingers tracing a vein on the side of his cock, pulling his foreskin back before slowly starting to fist himself. The show was nice, but Steve didn’t just want to watch. He wanted to touch and explore, to run his hands over Thor’s thighs, push him back on the bed, caress and tease his cock. He hadn’t thought he’d react this way; somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he thought that once they made it this far, that once he saw Thor’s cock, he’d find the whole experience off-putting, that he’d want to quit this little tryst, but instead, he wanted _more._

 

Steve shifted on the bed, parting his legs a bit, and then patted the bed between them, gesturing for Thor to sit there. Hesitantly, he started to, but they were both bulky and large, and it wasn’t until Steve grabbed one of Thor’s legs and draped it over his own, causing Thor to drop half a foot onto the bed, that he understood what Steve wanted. His other leg was uncurled and laid over Steve’s, and then they were both sitting, facing each other, Steve inching closer to kiss Thor again, his fingertips trailing over Thor’s sides as he slid his hands around to pull Thor to him. Thor planted a hand firmly at the back of Steve’s neck, to hold him in place while they kissed, his fingers catching the longer strands of hair near the top of Steve’s head.

 

Both he and Thor looked down as their hips brushed against one another, cocks touching, and Thor groaned, his hand tightening in Steve’s hair. Steve found it hard to keep a moan in, instead letting out a choppy breath, one that ended in a soft gasp when Thor rolled his hips against Steve’s.

 

“Fuck,” Steve whispered, kissing Thor, who seemed dazed, his pupils blown wide, mouth slightly agape. He moaned into Steve’s mouth as they started to slide against one another, rocking their hips together, Thor’s cock pressing into Steve’s belly. They were both hard, Thor’s cock dripping, and Steve whimpered as he glanced down, seeing just how hard Thor was for him, just how enthusiastically and frantically Thor was grinding against him.

 

Almost unwillingly, Steve leaned back for a minute, reaching for his nightstand. It took him far too long to get his drawer open and find the bottle of lotion he kept in it. Fumbling with it, he managed to get a decent amount pumped into his own hand, reaching between them to slick Thor’s cock with it. It wasn’t as foreign as he thought it would be; instead, it was a lot like taking himself in hand, Steve starting with slow, firm strokes, enjoying the little vulgar _squelch_ that accompanied each. Thor’s breathing turned ragged, his hips thrusting up into Steve’s hand, and once Steve had him good and slick Thor had settled down enough to reach for the lotion himself.

 

Thor wasted no time in squeezing some lotion into his hand, and then, with no apparent qualms or reservations whatsoever, reached for Steve’s erection. When his hand closed on Steve’s cock again, now slick with cold lotion, Steve couldn’t help but buck into Thor’s grasp, his own hand stilling on Thor’s cock and he struggled to concentrate against the overwhelming sensations. Thor seemed to enjoy Steve’s reaction, smiling mischievously before finding a rhythm on Steve’s cock, Steve trying to work out one of his own. Their hands bumped against one another, their hard, slick cocks still rubbing together in a needy search for friction. 

 

Thor kept kissing him, biting Steve’s lower lip and swallowing his moans as their hands sped up, hips jerking and twisting. Steve clutched Thor’s back with his free hand, feeling Thor’s muscles shift beneath his skin each time he thrust into Steve’s grip, occasionally digging his nails into him, _hard,_ just because it was something he had never done with a female partner, while Thor panted between kisses and scratched at Steve’s scalp.

 

It was all too good, all too much, from Thor’s stubble rasping across his face to the way Thor twisted his grip at the end of each stroke, thumbing the head of Steve’s cock, to how big and imposing and warm he was, pressed up against Steve, to the little smile he always had when they broke from their kisses. Too soon there was pleasure building in his groin, behind his balls, his inner thighs tensing as it grew, until it finally boiled over in one skin-tingling moment, Steve’s hips snapping as he roughly fucked Thor’s hand and buried his face in Thor’s shoulder. “Ah, fuck,” he hissed, the first shudders taking over his body, hot on the heels of the pleasure racing through him. Thor kept pumping him through his orgasm, his strokes long and smooth, seemingly unfazed, excited even, as Steve’s hand stilled once more on his cock, too caught up in his pleasure to focus on anything else. Thor pulled his hand away when Steve finished coming, settling it on Steve’s hip.

 

Nestled against the junction of Thor’s shoulder and neck, Steve took a second to compose himself, coming down from his orgasm, feeling his semen coating his chest and hand. He felt...dirty, and dimly he realized that his sheets should be changed after this, but then Thor was pressing against him, rubbing, urging Steve to touch him, and all of those others thoughts vanished as he started to jack Thor again.

 

As Thor got closer, he kissed back harder, his eyes clouded with hazy, frantic lust when they parted. He clung to Steve, pushed against him with increasing urgency, little moans and groans spilling liberally from his mouth, tumbling from red, bitten lips. His hair was a wreck, long tousled by Steve, now hanging in his face, sticking to the sweaty skin of his forehead, neck and shoulders.

 

And he was fucking Steve’s hand like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

 

Steve had never felt this _wanted_ during sex, this needed, and it was refreshing, thrilling to be appreciated so. It was clear from how Thor kissed him, from how they touched and how Thor doted on him earlier that this meant more than a bump and grind to him.

 

“Steve, _please,_ ” Thor murmured, his fingers rhythmically clutching Steve’s shoulder, having dropped out of his hair. Biting his lip, Steve worked his hand faster, the same way he did when he was close, paying a bit more attention to the head of Thor’s cock, seeing just how hard and needy he was.

 

Thor came with a cut-off shout, one that sounded like a sharp cough as he restrained himself, his hips giving several long, slow thrusts as Steve worked him through his orgasm. He dipped his head, resting his brow on Steve’s shoulder while Steve uncurled his fingers from around his cock. Their chests and thighs were coated in a mess of semen and lotion, all cooling and congealing, but somehow Steve couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

Nuzzling his neck, Thor eased Steve back onto the bed, turning him onto his side before laying down next to him. He curled up close, one arm thrown over Steve, curling around his shoulder to toy with the back of his hair, and then Steve felt one of Thor’s legs prod between his. He shifted, drawing his top leg forward so that Thor could slide his leg between Steve’s thighs.

 

They lay like that for a while, exchanging slow, dampened kisses, Steve dimly aware that they barely fit onto his bed. Their close proximity was almost a necessity, with Thor nearly pushed into the wall and Steve teetering near the other edge of the bed. Eventually he snaked his arm around the bulk of Thor’s shoulder to play with his hair, brushing it back and twisting it around his fingers.

 

“Two days,” Steve murmured. “Are you excited to go back?”

 

“You would ask that _now_?” Thor murmured with a quiet chuckle. But then he looked away for a moment, shifting his head on the pillows. “Somewhat,” he answered. “I do not look forward to dealing with matters concerning my brother, but I do enjoy returning.”

 

“How exactly...do you get there?” Steve had heard the terms tossed around--Bifrost, Einstein-Rosen bridge--but they meant little to him.

 

Thor gave him another slow kiss. “Agent Hill usually drives me to near the Canadian border, and then I wait for Heimdall to summon me.”

 

“You don’t just...fly?”

 

More laughter, and then Thor shook his head no. “The FAA does not take kindly to such things.”

 

After a long pause, Steve finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had popped up in the back of his mind. “You think anyone would object if I drove you?”

 

Thor drew his chin to his chest, his gaze skeptical. “You do not think that would look...suspicious?”

 

“No. Clint drives you places. I’ve driven you places.” Steve rubbed the outside of Thor’s arm. “I mean, it makes more sense for one of us to do it than the Assistant Director.”

 

“Then I would gladly have your company,” Thor said, leaning close to languidly kiss Steve again.

 

Steve had a brief thought about getting cleaned up and having Thor go back to his own rooms, but at that moment, he found he really didn’t care very much.

 

\---

 

Liberty seemed like a nice town.

 

Steve had only given it a cursory glance as they drove through, still on route 17, which they would take a bit farther, until it forked in the Balsam Lake forest. Somewhere down that fork was usually where Maria took Thor--it was out of the way and relatively isolated, which meant few to no bystanders asking questions.

 

They’d stopped for lunch in Monticello, Thor giving Steve his honest opinion of each and every restaurant in the town until they settled on one he liked. Their waitress had assumed, from both of their casual dress and from Steve’s mention of Balsam Lake, that they were on some kind of a hunting trip, and Steve saw no reason not to play along with such a convenient excuse.

 

Liberty was a small town, no more than a cluster of houses and supermarkets off the highway, but Steve liked its rustic charm. His whole life had essentially been spent in big cities, aside from a USO tour and some action in Europe, and he’d always wondered why it would be like to live in some place like Liberty.

 

The town was the last real landmark on their way. From there on out, 17 only sported the occasional man-made structure, otherwise unblemished between long stretches of forests or hills. Steve liked the isolation better; he’d hated dealing with the traffic in New York in a vehicle as large as the Land Cruiser on loan from S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

Inside the car, Steve peppered Thor with questions about Asgard, realizing that in light of Thor’s trip, he actually knew very little about Thor’s home. This was a good chance to rectify that. He’d heard names mentioned, but now Thor gave him vivid descriptions of the persons behind those names, telling anecdotes about his friends and family, and for the first time Steve realized that Thor had a whole life that was separate from everything he did on Earth.

 

In the car, he’d made no moves to touch Steve, but as they pulled out of Liberty and back onto the nearly deserted stretch of 17, Steve put his hand on Thor’s right knee, just keeping it there for a few minutes before tracing patterns on the inside of it. Thor didn’t even seem to notice, just spread his legs a bit more so that Steve didn’t have to reach his as far, as Thor continued talking and gesturing. Steve couldn’t help the feeling the satisfaction at knowing that was just casual affection between them now, the kind they could show in private, and neither needed to make a big deal about it.

 

They drove for a while through the woods, until Thor told Steve to pull over as they rounded a bend marked by a steep hill on one side. Steve had obliged, taking his hand from Thor’s knee to put it back on the wheel.

 

“Just over this hill,” Thor said, “is the clearing I go to. You can park the car there.” He pointed to a spot near the guardrail, and Steve gently applied the brakes. He threw the car in park, and as he reached for his seatbelt, he noticed that Thor had undone his, but made no move to get out of the car yet.

 

Steve hesitated, watching Thor, who was staring at his hands in his lap. Thor glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and then turned to Steve, who let his seatbelt slip through his hands and recoil. Cautiously, Thor shifted, twisting his body to fully face Steve as Steve leaned forward a bit, until they kissed, Thor sliding his tongue in Steve’s mouth as Steve briefly grabbed a fistful of his hair.

 

They parted after a moment, still too nervous about being in _public,_ even though the nearest person was miles away. Thor shifted his hands in his lap, one drawing up his thigh before slipping into his pocket. “Thank you for taking me up here,” he said. “I hope the drive was not too taxing.”

 

“It was fine,” Steve replied, candid as ever. “I had a good time.”

 

“Perhaps someday you could teach me to drive,” Thor said, eyeing the steering wheel. “So that you and the others need not...ferry me everywhere.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Yeah, we can do that.” He smiled, and Thor returned it before looking down to pull something small from his pocket. It glinted brightly in the sunlight slashing through the windshield as he held it up.

 

He held it out to Steve, and it took Steve a second to realize it was in fact a keychain, with an odd-looking pendant hanging off of it, roughly shaped like a T and inscribed with a pattern similar to what Thor’s armor bore. “For you.”

 

Gingerly, Steve reached up and Thor handed it to him, placing it in his palm. “Thank you.”

 

“I hope you do not find it too...sentimental or effusive,” Thor continued. “The pendant is the pagan symbol for Mjolnir. Such a thing was intended to invoke my protection.”

 

Steve nodded. He might not wear it openly on his keys, but it was small enough that he could tuck it in his pocket and not worry about it. It would be his little reminder of Thor while he was away. “Thank you,” he said again. He slid the keyring around his finger, tucking the pendant into his palm.

 

“Think nothing of it,” Thor replied, with a warm smile. “It is simply a pendant.”

 

Steve laughed, hesitating a moment. Thor unlocked his door and opened it, heading around toward the hatchback trunk while Steve waited in the car. He unfurled his fingers from around the pendant, looking down at it. It hit him, then, Thor was a _god_. Well, not a god, not _the_ God, but a god-figure, one that was thousands of years old, had seen so many things, had been _worshipped_ by people. There were books about him, classes taught on his pantheon, temples built in his honor, and people who still believed in him, as evidenced by the little pendant.

 

And now he was tapping on the back window, to get Steve to unlock the trunk so he could get the _real_ Mjolnir out.

 

Shaking his head, Steve hit the unlock button, pulling the keys out of the ignition and opening his door. He made it to the trunk just as Thor was reaching up to shut it, his shirt pulling up, revealing his hipbones and his lower abs, still marked by a faded bite that Steve had left there the night before. Thor wasn’t as worried about Steve leaving marks on him, provided they weren’t in blatantly visible spots, like his neck. Any bite or bruise Steve could leave on Thor usually cleared up in the next day.

 

He bit his lip to keep the grin off his face. Last night Thor had surprised him well after midnight, knocking on Steve’s door until he woke, and then pouncing on him once they were inside Steve’s bedroom. The sudden fierceness of his embrace had wiped away any protests Steve might have had about the hour. They’d touched and kissed and explored twice, the second time in Steve’s shower, under water so hot it had left Steve’s skin bright red. The shower had washed clean the evidence of their play, and for a while they had just stood under the spray, running hands over limbs and torsos under the guise of washing.

 

Thor shut the trunk, the resulting slam bringing Steve back to reality. He swallowed thickly before setting off after Thor, who had jumped the guardrail and was trudging through the light snow and dead leaves up the hill.

 

He reached the crest in no time at all, Steve jogging a bit to catch up with him. His hands were stuffed in his pockets now, the pendant still in his palm. Thor waited for him at the top, glancing around the woods. The trees were bare, having lost their leaves in October, and snow covered patches of the ground, broken by dark patches of exposed earth. The trees stood out starkly against the gray clouds, as if painted on, thick, black, crude strokes of a painter’s brush.

 

“I will see you in two weeks,” Thor told Steve. “Wait here, and take care.” Then he set off down the far side of the hill, which led to a small clearing that was considerably higher than the street had been. He jogged a bit at the bottom, to avoid stumbling, and when he had wandered out to the center of the clearing, he tilted his head back, searching the sky for something. Out of curiousity, Steve looked up, too, but found nothing, wondering if Thor was looking for something only he could see.

 

His cry of “Heimdall!” resonated through the quiet forest like a gunshot. Two frightened birds flew from a skeleton tree, cawing frantically. Steve watched them flap away, two black outlines on a mottled gray canvas, and then he looked back down to Thor again, who waved to him, and then grasped Mjolnir with both hands, one directly under the head, the other at the end of the handle.

 

Steve had no idea what to expect, and the loud crash and blinding light that engulfed Thor took him by surprise. At first, he was worried that something had happened to his friend, and he nearly shouted, taking a few steps forward, but then he realized that whatever this was, Thor had expected it to happen. There were no cries of pain, no words of warning. Thor was, and would be, okay.

 

When the flash ended and Steve could see once more, Thor was gone, replaced by a pattern emblazoned upon the ground. Inside his pocket, Steve ran his thumb over the similar design etched on his pendant, and then he turned around, starting back down the hill toward the car.

 


End file.
